Of Things Not Seen
by Miss Weather
Summary: Missing: one head detective; goes by the name "Lassie." If spotted, please call the Santa Barbara Police Department. Follow-up to 'Disoriented.' *WHUMPAGE ahead!*
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers**—This is fan fiction. No profit is involved. All recognizable characters belong to Steve Franks and the USA Network (not me). No infringement intended. Just taking the gang out for a little fun.

**Feedback**—Comments, critique, and suggestions are welcome.

**Spoilers**—Everything through season 3 is fair game.

**Main Characters**- My first team/ensemble fic!! Shawn and Lassiter centric (of course), but the entire 'crew' is featured in this one. Gen fic. (No slash except for what you bring yourself).

**A/N:** My follow-up to 'Disoriented'. Pre-requisite reading is not mandatory. But there will be references, so if you're confused, go there first. This story takes place about six months after the events of 'Disoriented' and Lassiter's back at work and all is well in the world. _If only life were ever that simple…_

**Special Thanks**: HUGE thank you to my lovely and very talented betas, k and em. You guys rock! I'm forever grateful for all of your support and encouragement.

**Summary**: Shawn and Company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing.

* * *

**Of Things Not Seen **

By: Miss Weather

* * *

_Tell me why you're here_

_I came to disappear_

(R.E.M.)

**

* * *

**

**SUNDAY EVENING**

_Ike's Tavern_

_Why the hell did I agree to this? _

It wasn't the first time that Shawn had asked himself that question this evening. Sighing, he took a sip from his beer as he surveyed the bar. It certainly wasn't a social establishment that would be highlighted on any of Santa Barbara's "Best Kept Secret" lists. Small, poorly lit and mostly deserted, with only a handful of customers scattered throughout. Perhaps the usual patrons had other plans tonight. Plans like he'd once had. Plans that had included free beer and barbeque at the McNab residence. The very same plans that he abandoned for this.

Shawn frowned at the thought and reminded himself that he was doing this out of concern for a colleague. Shaking his head, he corrected himself: it wasn't out of concern; it was because she'd asked. And he couldn't say "no" to her.

Electing to ignore his inner voice, he scanned the bar for a particular patron. As expected, the man in question was sitting alone at a corner table, drinking himself into oblivion.

"Great. Just great," Shawn muttered.

_At least, he's still conscious_, Shawn thought_, _taking in the other man's rumpled appearance as he strolled to the table. With beer in hand and all doubts cast aside, he committed himself to his next course of action.

"Fancy seeing you here, Lassie," Shawn said as he approached the table. "Of all of the gin joints in Santa Barbara…"

"What are you doing here, Spencer?" Lassiter growled before downing the liquor in his glass.

"Just having a drink with a coworker."

Lassiter's head darted from side to side. "Oh? Who?"

"You," he said with a forced smile, taking a seat across from Lassiter.

The other man grunted as he signaled for the waitress to bring him a refill. "Go away. Spencer."

"Come on, Lassie. Can't two…er… pals share a drink on a nice Sunday evening?"

"We're not pals."

"Okay. Coworkers. Satisfied?" Shawn offered. "So, coworker, compatriot, my brother in blue got any good 'water cooler' gossip? I heard from Susan in Personnel, who heard from Lawson in Transportation, who heard from Sgt. Patterson in-- "

"Spencer. Stop," Lassiter snapped, sullen.

To Shawn's surprise, the words didn't hold the expected degree of hostility. Alcohol, fatigue or perhaps a combination of the two had already dulled Lassiter and his ire.

Not that Shawn could blame him. Everyone was entitled to having an off week; Lassiter was no exception. If the detective wanted to drink his problems away in lieu of confronting them, who was he to criticize? He knew that it had been a really miserable week for the head detective.

"Okay. Look. I'll level with you: Jules is worried. I'm here because she asked," Shawn admitted.

"Tell her that I'm fine and go home."

With a shake of his head he said, "No can do. You know how she can be. She's persistent with a capital p. She'd be here if she could."

Lassiter nodded, but declined to offer anything else to the conversation.

Unperturbed by the other man's silence, Shawn continued, "Okay. I know that it's been a bad week and all."

"A bad week? Do tell, what's a bad week in your world? Not having time to grab one of those godawful pineapple concoctions? Losing a bet to Guster?" Lassiter shook his head in disgust.

"Ha-ha. Hi-larious, Lassie. I figured between the case and the wedding, it's enough to constitute a pretty crappy week for most. Can I just say you look awfully mopey for someone who doesn't have pay alimony any longer?" The words flew out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.

"Who told you?!" he hissed.

Shawn waved his hands dismissively, hoping to avoid an argument with the drunken detective. "About your ex-wife, I…"

Lassiter interrupted sharply, "Doesn't matter. I don't want to know." He sneered at Shawn before allowing his gaze to drift back to his empty glass. "Didn't realize that my private business made for such entertaining office gossip."

"Lassie…" Shawn paused to reconsider his approach. "Okay. My bad. I didn't mean for it to come across like that. It's just that Jules is concerned. Hell. Everyone's noticed that you haven't been your…er… typical curmudgeon self lately."

Lassiter scowled, turning to take a newly refilled glass from the waitress. He took a large swallow from the glass. "It's none of your concern, Spencer. Just get out of here."

Shawn wanted to do as Lassiter asked more than anything. The contemptuous tone in the man's voice chafed on his nerves. However, he forced himself to remain seated. _This isn't about me._

He frowned, watching Lassiter quickly polish off the drink in his hand. _How many has he had? Enough to be intoxicated, but not-on-the-floor drunk_. From the look of it, Lassiter wasn't as drunk as he wanted to be. Not even close.

Silence stretched between the two.

The lull gave Shawn an opportunity to better organize his thoughts or at least attempt to. He barely managed to suppress a cringe as the unmistakable sounds of Jimmy Buffet filtered through the establishment.

_This is hell_.

Shawn sighed. "None of my concern? You didn't yell at me once today, which is off-putting to say the least. And, you missed the connection between the philandering Mrs. Philips and her handyman. It was so obvious! You're off your game."

"I don't need work advice from a fake psychic."

Nonplussed, Shawn went on. "Not to mention those dark circles and that pasty complexion. I'm guessing that you aren't going for a Goth look. Have you slept at all?"

He paused for an answer that never came. Not that he really expected one. "Come on! You can't keep this up. No sleep, non-stop work and this" Shawn said as he gestured to the empty glass. "People are starting to talk."

"Duly noted, Spencer. You came. You saw. You can leave now."

"Okay," he relented. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your ex and all."

Lassiter nodded faintly. "So, how did you find me?" he asked as Shawn stood to leave the table.

Seeing this as his olive branch, Shawn sat down again. "Followed you, which is another thing you missed today. Some head detective," he quipped with forced levity.

Not appreciating the attempt to be baited, Lassiter grumbled. "I thought we had an understanding about that."

"Oh. That?" Shawn asked with an exaggerated shrug. "Thought that was just during work hours. You mean I can't follow you around outside of work? Gee Lassie, you need to specify these things ahead of time."

"Enough! I didn't come here to chat."

"Nope. You came here to wallow. How's that going for you? "

"Swell. Why are you still here?"

"Just trying to avoid a repeat performance of the last time I found you drinking alone. Not sure your brain can handle another fall."

"Shut up, Spencer!" Lassiter shouted, emphasizing the words with a slam of his empty glass.

"Listen, I know things have been rough for you the past year. Really rough, but we're here for you." Lassiter balked at this with a roll his eyes.

"Too forced? Not sincere enough?" Shawn asked, nonchalantly. "Give me a minute. I think I can do better."

"Please, sweet merciful justice, stop before you embarrass yourself," Lassiter commented dryly.

He huffed with mock indignation. "Man! Is it so outrageous that you have coworkers that are worried about you?"

"What is this? I don't need a pep talk."

Shawn snorted. "Look at yourself, sitting alone, drunk. What's going on buddy?"

"So, you're an armchair psychologist too? Don't psychoanalyze me, Spencer. Not now, not ever," Lassiter retorted.

"Perhaps my amazing track record is the reason for your current funk?" Shawn smiled brightly, placing a strong emphasis on each word. "It is astounding." Shawn watched with some delight, as the other man's jaw clenched tightly.

Lassiter slammed both hands on the table. "You arrogant pain in the ass…"

"No, wait," Shawn interrupted. "The spirits say that this has something to do with the SBPD's latest high profile case. Pretty UCSB co-ed goes missing after partying on some rich guy's yacht and the media has been in a frenzy ever since."

Lassiter sneered. "Well, gee, Spencer, so thrilled that you stopped by to tell me what I already know."

"By the way, Gus and I are free to help now that we're finished with the Philips and Mayfield cases. I know that the Chief originally said no, but it sounds like you could use my assistance once again."

Shawn's eagerness to assist with the case had been quashed by the Chief. In no uncertain terms was "Team PSYCH" to help investigate the Gray case at this point in time. According to Vick, there had been growing concern that that the psychic's antics might lead to unwanted scrutiny from both the media outlets and a court of law. For the time being, Shawn was forced to sit this one out.

Lassiter shook his head sharply. "Drop the act. I don't care what you've heard or think you can offer. We don't need you and your fake psychic mumbo-jumbo on this case. Things are precarious enough as is."

"Precarious?" Shawn repeated, unable to ignore the opportunity to satisfy his own curiosity. Much to his irritation, both Lassiter and O'Hara had followed Vick's orders to the letter and had been completely tight-lipped about the case.

"Yes, precarious. When I don't have reporters trying to shove cameras in my face, I have attorneys constantly interfering with the Department's case. And now our witness has gone missing." Lassiter clenched his hand into a fist, anger barely contained. "That bastard belongs behind bars. I'm tired of watching criminals walk away because of mistakes and legal technicalities."

"Sounds like you definitely need my phenomenal powers of psychic awesomeness."

Lassiter sighed and ignored the obvious jibe. He rubbed his hands over his face before muttering, "I'm just sick to death of having to remind myself why I do this."

Shawn was taken aback perhaps more so by the detective's tone than the actual words. He sounded beleaguered.

After a long pause, Shawn prompted, "Lassie?"

"Leave it, Spencer. I'm just tired. That's all. Just leave it," Lassiter answered quietly.

"Tired because you haven't slept in a week," Shawn pointed out. "Dude, you need a vacation."

"Need I remind you that I just got back from an extended break?"

"Recovering from a head injury doesn't count as a vacation. You know a little fun in the sun wouldn't hurt you. Your aura is just atrocious," Shawn said with a quick smile.

"So, that's you're answer: a vacation," Lassiter said with all the irritation that Shawn had come to expect for the head detective.

He nodded. "It'll do you a world of good. Cheer you up."

"Cheer me up? What are we, ten?" Lassiter complained. "Not to disregard your magical vacation theory, but I don't need or want one. What I need is more evidence for this case. I know he did it. I know he's responsible. I just need to prove it."

"And you aren't going to prove it from here. Come on."

"What?"

"I'll drive you home."

Lassiter glared at him in disbelief. "With what? Your bike? Absolutely not! No way in hell I'm riding on that bike with you."

"No. No! I borrowed Gus's car." Shuddering, Shawn added, "Oh, that's just great. Now, I'll have that image stuck in my brain for days. Thanks for that. You ready?"

"No need," Lassiter said with a scowl at his empty glass. He took a quick glance at his watch before adding, "Cab will be coming for me in about 30 minutes. I'll be fine until then."

"You sure?" Shawn asked.

Lassiter nodded. "Yes, Spencer, I'm sure. I'm capable of walking to a cab by myself. Despite what O'Hara might think, I don't need a babysitter."

Shawn hesitated for a moment before standing to leave. "Okay, I'm gone. I did my good deed for the day."

"Spencer," Lassiter called out to him. "When you talk to O'Hara tonight, tell her I'm fine and I'll see her Monday morning."

He offered a wide grin and quirky "thumbs up" to Lassiter. "Got it, Buddy."

Before leaving the bar, Shawn made one quick stop to ask their waitress to bring the detective a cup of coffee. _Four creams, three sugars._ After a little deliberation, he also left his number with her. It was purely precautionary on his part, or so he told himself. After all, experience had taught him that the detective might need more assistance than a cab to get home safely.

* * *

**40 MINUTES LATER… **

Lassiter managed to exit the bar and step into the cab with only a barest of stumbles, an impressive feat given his level of impairment. Conversing with Spencer was reason enough for him to believe that he was seriously intoxicated. Without a doubt, his better judgment had clearly abandoned him. Four glasses of 12 oz malt liquor consumed in less than two hours, roughly equated to a BAC of approximately 0.08-0.09. He'd spent enough years on the force to be able to estimate a simple BAC with relative ease, even in his current drunken state.

Sighing deeply, he settled into the seat. The cup of coffee had done little to clear his head and the stiflingly breeze from the open window didn't help. Despite his best efforts, his excursion to the bar had done little for his mood.

Lassiter had ventured out seeking a little reprieve from what Spencer had deemed "a bad week." But instead of the numbness that he'd strived for, he found nothing but melancholy and a $50 tab. And worse yet, he had a whole other set of problems to deal with. To his dismay, he knew that he couldn't ignore the events of the night, at least, not completely.

Somewhere in the last ten months, his perky (but competent) partner had become quite the mother hen. Much to Lassiter's chagrin, O'Hara was a professional busybody, who cared a little too much about everyone's welfare. Be it family, friend, coworker, or victim, she had plenty of compassion for everyone. Truth be told, he had no desire to change that: it made her O'Hara.

However, as endearing as the quality may have been, he found it incredibly infuriating to be on the receiving end. He was a grown man for God's sake, not one of her young nephews! And he certainly didn't need her sending the Department's resident jackass out after him.

He clenched his jaw in frustration. He'd just have to find the right opportunity to tell when he was sober and hang-over free. _Definitely by Tuesday at the latest. _

The cab ride to his apartment was quick and relatively painless. He managed to exit and pay the cab driver without incident. The combination of scotch and fatigue had stripped him of his coordination, leaving him feeling unnaturally heavy. He adjusted his gait, steering himself back onto the path towards his front door.

Lassiter kept his focus on his feet, taking measured steps to avoid any unnecessary falls. His only goal at the moment was to make it to his bed before passing out.

His slow progress was interrupted by a voice from behind. "Excuse me, sir? You dropped your wallet."

Before he could turn fully to respond, he felt his head snap back, exploding in pain. Had Lassiter been sober, he might have avoided the blow (if not the situation in its entirety). But he wasn't. He never saw it coming, never even caught a glimpse of his attacker. All he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him as his vision faded to black.

* * *

TBC…

Thanks for reading!

Comments and feedback are welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers et al**—See chapter 1

**Feedback**—Comments, critique, and suggestions are welcome.

**Spoilers**—Seasons 1-3

**Special Thanks**: HUGE thank you to my lovely and very talented betas, k and em. Extra special thank you for the copy edits on this one. Way too many embarrassing errors caused by too much late night typing.

**Summary**: Shawn and Company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing.

* * *

****CHAPTER 2****

* * *

_On Monday, when the sun is hot,_

_I wonder to myself a lot,_

_Now is it true or is it not,_

_That what is which and which is what?_

A.A. Hodge

*****

**MONDAY **(late) **MORNING**

***  
**

Shawn glanced again out the Psych office window and knew instantly that it was going to be another unbearably hot day. Too tired to do much of anything else, he dropped his head down onto his desk and waited for Gus to arrive. Despite his earlier predictions, he had managed to arrive in time to enjoy the festivities at the McNab's last night. Unfortunately, the combination of too many Hawaiian-style chicken wings mixed with one too many beers had left him feeling a bit below par. And the unseasonable heat wasn't helping matters.

It took less than 15 minutes for familiar footsteps and a loud slam of the office door to signal the arrival of Psych's rather upset co-owner. "I thought we had a deal, Shawn," Gus announced, perturbed.

Shawn lifted his head off the desk with a hefty yawn. "It's way too early for you to be all complaining, McComplainster."

Gus gave him a look. "Nice."

"Yeah. What do you expect?" Shawn groused, slouching a bit in his chair. "It's practically dawn."

Ignoring him, Gus cut in, "I can't believe you pulled me away from work. I had to reschedule three appointments to come here."

"If makes you feel better, we can call this a business lunch."

"It's 11:00 am, Shawn."

"Okay. Business brunch?"

Gus sighed loudly, "We have no food."

"Don't Cheetos and a Slushies count? Honestly, what more could you want?" Shawn smirked.

Gus tossed a handful of manila folders into his desk, demanding, "Why am I here, Shawn? If you pulled me away from work for another one of your harebrained ideas..."

Shawn looked mock-hurt as he put his hand to his heart. "Truly, you wound me, Gus. Harebrained? Come now, Buddy, would I do that?"

Gus scowled. "Should I list them off for you alphabetically or in chronological order?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "Potential client is on the way, satisfied?"

Gus sighed again, clearly not in the mood to argue. "Who's the client?"

"Not completely sure. Daughter of one of my father's poker buddies."

"You don't know?"

Shawn shrugged innocently. "Look, you were the one that was saying that we need to take on more privates cases. Expenses and all."

Gus shook his head in exasperation. "Surprising as it may seem, the landlord insists that we pay for the rent every month, Shawn! And you've managed to spend the last of our funds on a Slushie machine and Judd Nelson's old Little League uniform."

"Dude, it was signed!"

"I don't care. You need to stop spending our money indiscriminately."

"Indiscriminately?"

"It means---"

Shawn huffed, his arms crossed. "I know what it means. Fine! No more indiscriminate spending. Happy?"

Before Gus could answer, they were interrupted by the arrival of their potential client. In Shawn's humble opinion, she was a pleasantly attractive woman, whom he estimated to be nearing 40. Based on appearances alone, she struck him as someone very well-off financially. The designer handbag, shoes, clothes, and glacier-sized diamond adorning her right hand were a dead giveaway. She certainly looked nothing like their typical clients, which immediately piqued Shawn's curiosity.

"I hope I'm not interrupting. I'm Ashley Weller. I have an appointment with Shawn Spencer," she said in a tone that bordered on snobbish.

Shawn greeted her with a bright smile. "Indeed, you do. I'm Shawn Spencer, psychic extraordinaire and this is my associate, Phineas McScrooge the Third."

Gus was still smiling at her, clearly enamored. "Burton Guster, ma'am. Please have a seat," he said as he pulled over a chair. "Can I get you something? Water? Coffee? Tea?"

She shook her head as she sat. "No, thank you."

"So, Ashley, can I call you, Ashley? What can we do for you?" Shawn asked.

Ashley nodded. "I need your help. My Champion show dog, Bao Bao Moon of Malibu went missing three days ago. I believe he was stolen."

"Did you report it to the police?" asked Gus.

"Are you kidding?" she responded with a hint of disgust. "Of course! That is, I tried to. The police claim that it's more likely that Bao escaped. There's no evidence to prove that he was stolen, but I know it!" Ashley paused to hand a photo across the desk to Shawn, "My father says that you are very good at what you do, solved cases for the police and all. I need you to find Bao."

"That's a dog?" Shawn asked in shock, unable to fully conceal his grimace.

"Shawn," Gus hissed, reaching across the desk to take a look at the photo. "Please feel free to ignore him. He has a peculiar sense of humor." Gus went on with a quick smile. "Shawn, Pekingese are an ancient Chinese breed. Not only are they striking, but intelligent, good natured and affectionate."

Ashley's eyes widened. "Wow. I'm impressed."

"Me too," Shawn quipped, but then schooled his expression into something more serious. "So, what makes you think that Bao Bao has been dog-napped?"

She sighed sadly. "When I returned from work, I found his outdoor kennel door open. I'm positive that I locked it before I left the house. The door wasn't damaged, just open. And now, my Bao's gone," Ashley replied with a sniffle, reaching in her purse to take out a tissue.

Shawn carefully watched her rub her hands together, noting a thin tan line on her left finger. "Wait. I'm getting something," he commented, holding his hands to his head. "Are you recently separated or divorced by any chance?

"Divorced. How'd you…?" She inquired, incredulous.

Shawn smiled. "Psychic, ma'am."

She shook her head in confusion, before saying, "But Kevin, that's my ex-husband, would never do anything like that. He knows that Bao is important to me."

"Did he have a key to the house and kennel?"

"Yes. But really, I can't imagine that Kevin would do such a thing."

Realization slowly dawning on Gus, he asked, "Out of curiosity, how much is Bao worth?"

"About $20,000," Ashley answered in a matter of fact tone.

"$20,000?!" Shawn's voice rose in surprise. "We're talking U.S. dollars, right?"

She nodded. "He's a five-time champion Pekingese for the Santa Barbara Kennel Club. Not to mention, that he has been invited to compete in the American Kennel Club National Championship for the last two years." Ashley dabbed away a stray tear, clearly working hard to hold back her emotions. "Do you think he stole Bao?"

Shawn closed his eyes, pausing for a long moment. "The spirits are sending mixed signals. I'll need to meditate on it for a bit. Perhaps check out the kennel first."

"I'll pay whatever it takes for you to find him. The police don't feel that it's worth their time or effort to find as they've deemed _a missing pet._"

The loud hum of his cell phone buzzing across the desk interrupted the next comment. A quick glance at the display screen and he saw that it was O'Hara.

"I'm sorry, Ashley, but I need to take this. Gus will take your contact information and we'll be in touch," he said quickly as he stepped into the adjacent room.

"Detective O'Hara, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Shawn greeted her in an easy bantering tone.

"_Have you seen Lassiter today?"_ she asked sharply. Her tone was wrong, panicked and uncertain.

It set Shawn immediately on guard. "What? No. Why would I?"

He heard her sigh. _"He didn't show up for a deposition this morning. No one has seen him at the station and I've tried his cell about a dozen times. It's going straight to voice mail."_

"Odd, maybe he just overslept or, I don't know, had car problems?"

"_This is Lassiter, we're talking about!"_ she shouted. Shawn recognized that tone. Juliet had clearly worked herself into a state of distress and wasn't in the mood for his typical antics.

"Good point. Let's not panic," Shawn offered, keeping his voice deliberately 'low key.' "Maybe he has a doctor's appointment and is indisposed."

"_He doesn't or at least, not according to the schedule on his computer."_

"You hacked into Lassie's computer?"

"_No, it wasn't hacking,"_ she snapped in frustration. _"Just forget it."_

"Jules?" Shawn prompted.

"_I'm worried, Shawn. This isn't like Lassiter. He doesn't miss meetings. He's never late. Not once since I've been partnered with him. And he'd definitely call if something came up."_

He frowned as images of a drunken and dejected Lassiter replayed in his mind. "Look, Jules, let's not jump to conclusions... "

Juliet interrupted. _"I'm heading over to his apartment right now. I called because I could use your help." _

"Okay, sure. I'll be there in twenty," Shawn acquiesced, as he ended the phone call.

He walked back into the other room to find Gus bidding their newest client goodbye. Shawn quickly strolled over to the desk, digging under piles in search of his keys.

"Can't believe that freaky-looking dog could lead to our biggest payment yet! You really think the ex-husband did it?" Gus asked, leaning against his desk.

"Don't know. Probably," Shawn answered vaguely. His focus was on finding his keys and not the conversation.

"Who was on the phone?"

"Juliet."

"Oh. Do they have another case for us?"

He shook his head. "Not exactly. Lassiter's MIA and Jules is freaked. I'm heading over to Lassiter's place to meet her. That is as soon as I find my keys."

"Seriously?" Gus asked, confused.

Shawn looked up at Gus, before shrugging and returning to his hunt. His mind was rapidly processing the potential reasons for Lassiter's absence. He worked through a dozen different reasons why Lassiter wasn't answering his phone, but couldn't quite dispel the image of a wasted head detective lying at the base of a toilet. Not that he'd admit it aloud, but Shawn hoped the detective's absence was related to something as straightforward as a hangover.

"I can drive us there," Gus offered.

"Thought you had to work?" Shawn asked, finding his keys stashed inside an empty coffee mug.

Gus simply shrugged. "I have to head to that side of town, anyway."

* * *

*

A couple shortcuts and a little evasive driving paid off, as they somehow arrived to Lassiter's apartment ahead of O'Hara. Shawn exited the blue Echo only to be welcomed by a wall of heat. Shawn could feel sweat pool along the back of his neck as he scanned the parking lot. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Lassiter's Crown Victoria.

The ever-resourceful and charming Detective Juliet O'Hara had been correct in her assessments of Lassiter. From what Shawn had seen over the years, Lassiter prided himself on his punctuality and general anal retentiveness. Skipping out on a meeting and not answering Juliet's calls didn't fit with what Shawn knew of the head detective. But neither did the stressed, beleaguered detective he found last night at the bar. None of this made sense and that alone disturbed Shawn the most.

"See anything?" Gus inquired as he got out of the car.

Shawn sighed. "Lassiter's Crown Vic is gone."

"What's going on?"

"I have no idea," Shawn paused, "but here's Jules."

Juliet quickly stepped out of her vehicle and walked over to join them. "Shawn, Gus," she said tightly as she stood in front of them. It didn't take someone with Shawn's observational skills to see that she was anxious.

She started, "Did you---"

Shawn shook his head, interrupting, "We just got here."

Juliet nodded. "His car isn't here," she stated before heading towards Lassiter's front door.

"Care to fill us in on what's going on?" Shawn asked nonchalantly, hustling to keep pace with the young detective.

He had always been secretly amazed at how quickly women could walk in high heels. Despite his many years of studying them (women, not the shoes), he couldn't quite figure how they accomplished such an impressive feat. It seemed to defy the laws of nature.

"Lassiter didn't show up for a meeting with the ADA this morning," Juliet reported, redirecting Shawn's attention back to the problem at hand.

She paused for a moment. The sound of her heels clicking sharply against the sidewalk filled the silence. "He hasn't been at the station since Sunday. I've called about a dozen times and all I get is his voicemail."

"And?" he pressed as they neared the front door. "Maybe he's still suffering the effects of last night's bender."

Juliet turned, giving Shawn one of the coldest looks that he'd ever seen from her. "Lassiter has 638 rules that he lives by. More than half of those are devoted to service and conduct. Hung-over, ill, or injured, he wouldn't be negligent in his responsibilities."

Shawn glanced over to Gus, who merely shrugged in response. As he approached the door, Shawn didn't see anything out of the ordinary. No red flags, nothing suspicious, and nothing appeared out of place. All and all, everything seemed to be as it should be.

"Carlton! Carlton. It's O'Hara," Juliet shouted, as she rang the doorbell repeatedly.

As expected, there was no answer. "What now?" Gus whispered to Shawn, who merely shrugged in response.

Juliet abandoned her current course of action and pulled out a set of keys from her purse. "Lassiter gave you a key to his place?" Shawn asked incredulously.

"'_Give_' might be too strong of a word. More like I borrowed them when he was in the hospital," Juliet answered, flustered. "I guess I forgot to return them to him." She quickly drew her sidearm as she unlocked the door. "Stay here until I give the 'all clear.' Understood?"

Shawn grabbed onto her arm in shock. "You are seriously entering Lassie's place all guns blazing without us?"

Juliet frowned and shook his hand off. "Let me do my job, Shawn," she demanded as she opened the door and stepped through the threshold.

For a moment, all he could hear the clack of her heels against the tile as she walked into the apartment. Shawn casually stepped through the door's threshold only to feel Gus tug on the back of his shirt.

"She said to wait here."

"Here or here," Shawn answered, gesturing first to the front landing and then inside the apartment. "She should have been more specific."

He walked through kitchen and living room, noting that nothing appeared to be out of place or in disarray. Light filtered through open blinds giving the rooms a warm glow. The apartment was as it had been the last time Shawn had seen it. Orderly. There were no signs of foul play and so far nothing struck Shawn as being atypical. He could hear Juliet open the interior doors (bedroom, click, bathroom, click, closets) as she inspected the apartment.

"I thought I told you guys to wait," Juliet said, as she walked back into the kitchen. Deflated, she holstered her weapon. "He's not here. From what I can tell, there's no sign of foul play or forced entry."

Shawn continued to scan the rooms one by one, adding, "Yeah. I'm not getting anything. No vibes. Nada." He frowned before declaring defeat after his fourth time walking past each room. Despite a careful, but quick inspection, he hadn't spotted any evidence of where Lassiter went.

"So, what do we do now?" Gus asked quietly from his spot near the fridge.

"I need call the Chief and issue an alert. I'll have CSU come by along with some officers to canvas the neighborhood. Oh, and I need to put a BOLO out on his car," Juliet rattled off her internal list, as she started for the front door.

"Do you need any help? I can make some phone calls," Gus offered.

"I already called the hospitals and morgue. There are no John Does matching Lassiter's description."

"Um…Guys, aren't we putting the car before the horse and all?" Shawn called out.

Gus cut in, "I think you mean cart."

Shawn tilted his head in feigned confusion. "Cart? Really? Hmm. I think you're wrong, but that's beside the point. I think we might be missing the obvious here."

"And that is?" Juliet asked.

"He's only been unaccounted for a couple of hours. Cut the guy some slack," he chided lightly. "I know that this might unlikely and very anti-Lassiter, but hear me out. Maybe he's just taking the morning off. Playing hooky? Taking a little time out?"

Before Shawn could finish, Juliet spun around to face him. "Shawn, what do you know that you're not telling me?" she demanded, angrily.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Look, you didn't see him last night. He was…umm… not deflated… Help me out here, Gus. Looking for a word, starts with a D?"

"Despondent?" Gus suggested.

"No."

"Depressed?"

"Not exactly."

"Dejected?"

"Nope."

"Guys!" Juliet barked, her tolerance for their usual banter evidently nonexistent at the moment.

"Defeated," Shawn answered in a somber tone of voice. "Jules, he sounded defeated." She shook her head, but he pressed on. "You said so yourself that he had been off for the last couple of weeks. And he's completely obsessed with this case, more so than usual. He's arguing with everyone at the station. Let's not forget that IA's threatened him with administrative leave twice in the past month and there's this whole thing with his ex-wife." He paused, searching for the right words. "I don't know… maybe it was too much for him."

The look on Juliet's face was something that Shawn couldn't readily identify. His stomach clenched, as he watched her bite her lower lip in disbelief. She appeared deeply troubled as she considered what he said. He didn't want to be the one to plant the seed of doubt, and he certainly didn't want to see such a conflicted look on her face ever again.

Gus asked, "Is there any way we can find that out?"

Shawn nodded. "Jules, can you scout out Lassie's favorite local spots. Restaurants? Coffee shops? Reflection spots? We'll check that bar that Lassiter visited last night. See if I get any psychic vibrations from there."

Juliet frowned with her hands held firmly on her hips. "Shawn…"

Holding up his hands to stop her retort, he explained, "Give us a couple of hours before you report to the Chief. When does she return from her vacation?"

"Her flight lands around noon. She said that she would be in the office by 2:00," she answered.

"Okay. Give us until two o'clock." Seeing the look of uncertainty on O'Hara's face, he insisted, "Look, I know that you want to do what's best for Lassiter, but this could just be nothing. A full-out police search for a head detective that's only been MIA for a couple of hours? IAB already thinks he's unstable. Let's not give them any evidence to support that thought."

"Okay," Juliet agreed, reluctantly. "I'll check out a couple of places and then head back to the station. Call me if you find anything out."

"Scout's honor," Shawn said holding up his hands in a mock salute.

They exited Lassiter's apartment, heading off into separate cars. Watching Juliet pull away, Gus asked, "So, what do you think?"

Shawn shrugged. "No sign of the suit he had on last night. No coffee brewed this morning. No wet towels from a morning shower. I don't think he's been in the apartment today." Shawn frowned, rubbing a hand through his hair. "He didn't drive to the bar last night. That much I know. So, he had to stop and pick up his car at some point."

"And then what?"

Shrugging his shoulders again, he answered, "No clue. Went to grab coffee and bagel on the beach?"

"Shawn, he carries packed suitcases in his car," Gus stressed.

"I know. Who knows, maybe he got lucky?" Shawn offered with a small grin.

Gus chuckled with a shake of his head. "Lassiter? You think that's likely?"

"No, but this is just so…really weird. Mind you, not quite Al Yankovic weird. More like Mike Score weird."

Nodding, Gus asked, "Where should we go first?"

"Ike's Tavern," Shawn said as he stepped into the car. "We need to find out which cab company Lassiter used last night."

* * *

*

Much to Shawn's growing frustration, two hours had passed and they were still no closer to finding Lassiter. Chuck, the bartender at Ike's saw Lassiter depart (in what he had described as "a drunken stagger") into a SB Company's cab last night. And a quick phone call had confirmed that the detective had been dropped off in front of his apartment Sunday evening. Unfortunately, Shawn was left with more questions than answers by the time Gus dropped him off at the Santa Barbara Police Department.

As he strolled into the building, Shawn went over a number of scenarios to explain the detective's sudden absence. He mentally listed off the potential reasons (in rank of most likely to least likely): an injury, illness, family emergency, spur-of-the-moment vacation to Mexico, alien abduction, drunken fling with a prostitute, or some combination of the above. He frowned, frustrated with his inability to make the pieces of this puzzle fit together. He definitely wasn't looking forward to sharing the news with Juliet.

As Shawn rounded the corner, he spotted the junior detective talking on the phone at her desk. Juliet looked even more frazzled, as she pinned her hair into a haphazard bun. Plunking himself down in the empty chair across from her desk, he sat and waited.

"Okay. No, that will be all, and thank you," she said before hanging up the phone. Shaking her head, she turned to look at him. He could tell from her weary expression that her search had been just as fruitless.

"Shawn." She offered him a small, hopeful smile. "Please tell me you found something."

"Sorry, Jules, I would if I could, but I can't, so I won't." Shawn smiled sadly. "Gus and I retraced Lassiter's steps from the bar to his apartment. He took a cab home, but the trail went cold after that. If the spirits know something, they're not telling me."

Juliet took all of this in with a sharp nod. She dropped eye contact, lowering her gaze to her desk for several long moments. Taking several deep breaths, she squared her shoulders before pushing herself into standing.

"Jules?" Shawn asked from his seat.

"Time to talk to the Chief," she answered softly as she walked towards Vick's office.

*

* * *

*

**TBC…**

**Thanks for reading!**

Comments and feedback are welcome!

**A/N:** Not exactly climactic, more foundational. Consider this chapter: groundwork. It's a necessary evil. And have no fear, Lassiter will appear in Chapter 3. Stay tuned!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers et al**—See chapter 1

**Feedback**—Comments, critique, and suggestions are welcome.

**Spoilers**—Seasons 1-3

**Special Thanks**: As always, thank you to my betas extraordinaire, k and em. Misplaced semi-colons, down by eighty-percent. Absent commas, up by two hundred-percent! Gah!! Punctuation, my old nemesis.

**A/N**: My apologies for the delay with this chapter. Things have been extraordinarily hectic lately, leaving me with no free time to write. Unfortunately, I don't see it improving in the near future. However, I do promise to try my best to post chapter 4 as soon as I can.

**Summary**: Shawn and Company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing.

* * *

***CHAPTER 3***

* * *

"_Ooh, Superman where are you now?_

_When everything's gone wrong somehow_

_The men of steel, the men of power_

_Are losing control by the hour…"_

_(Genesis- "Land of Confusion")_

* * *

**MONDAY AFTERNOON**

Shawn gave the clock on the wall an angry glare. Only five minutes had passed since Juliet entered Chief Vick's office. In that time, he had whistled his way through four of his all-time favorite TV theme songs. Drumming his fingers on the desk to keep tempo, Shawn felt himself grow restless. He felt useless and Shawn Spencer didn't do useless.

Giving up any pretense of patiently waiting, Shawn hopped up from his chair and strolled to the glass walls of the Chief's office. The blinds were canted, making it almost impossible for him to monitor their conversation from the outside. Knowing that he'd learn nothing of value from the hallway, he gave Vick's door a quick knock before brashly entering.

"Mr. Spencer, what do you think you're doing?" Chief Vick demanded. "This is a private meeting."

"Sorry. My bad! Quick favor, Chief, could you scoot over about six inches to the left?" he asked, making a large sweeping gesture with his left hand. "I can't read your lips from this angle."

Vick rolled her eyes. "For crying out---this isn't the time or place, Mr. Spencer. Now, please go."

"Chief, please wait," Juliet interjected. "Shawn's aware of the situation. I contacted him this morning. He's been helping out."

She gave him an appraising look before saying, "Is that so? Okay. Mr. Spencer, stop loitering around out there and sit." Shawn didn't need to be told twice, immediately dropping into the chair next to Juliet.

Turning her attention to the junior detective, Vick inquired, "Okay. Will someone please tell me what's going on? Where's Lassiter?"

Juliet drew a deep breath. "We don't know. I was contacted by Nowak when Lassiter didn't show up for an appointment this morning. No one has seen him here today and there haven't been any 'field' requests for him by any other officers or departments. I've called his cell phone about a dozen times, but it's either turned off or disabled."

Vick frowned. "Now, I know that our head detective would like to think himself above such errors, but is it possible that he's simply double-booked himself? Medical appointment or something similar?

The junior detective shook her head before answering, "No, or not that I can determine. I've called everyone that I could think of: doctors, family, colleagues, and no one's seen Lassiter today. I've also contacted local hospitals and the morgue. Outside of the patrons at the bar and the cab driver, Shawn is the only person who's spoken with Lassiter in the last 16 hours."

"What time was Lassiter to report for his appointment?" Vick asked.

"8:30."

"I see. I'll grant you that this is odd, especially for Detective Lassiter. But given what's occurred in the past couple of months…"

"I know what you're going to say, Chief," Juliet protested, "that Lassiter has been acting erratic. Like a man obsessed. But you know him! He wouldn't skip out on meetings or avoid calls. This isn't like him. I believe something is very wrong." Her voice became heated, rising sharply with her last words.

"Easy, Jules," Shawn said in a hushed voice. He reached over and gently placed his hand over hers. "I kind of agree with the Chief. Lassiter's been more Lassiter-like, and not in a good way. More like a crazed gun-toting, Michael Douglas in 'Falling Down', über-Lassie kind of way."

"Let's not overreact or make assumptions," Vick replied. "Lassiter has been unaccounted for only six and half hours. Clearly, there is the possibility that it has been longer. Are there indications that his disappearance was not voluntary?"

Sighing deeply, Juliet shook her head. "Not yet. There were no signs of foul play or forced entry at his apartment. But that's only based on visual inspection. We'd need CSU to scrutinize things a bit more. And we haven't located his car, yet."

"Mr. Spencer, do you have anything to add?"

For reasons he couldn't easily explain, Shawn didn't want to discuss last night's events with Chief Vick unless absolutely necessary. He wondered briefly if there was such a thing as fake psychic confidentiality. Not that it mattered. He doubted that Lassiter would care what was said. It was more likely the head detective would deny their conversations altogether than take offense.

"What can I say?" he said with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. "I drew the short straw. Being the SBPD's favorite and only psychic consultant, I stopped to see if he needed a ride home. That's all. He didn't. Took a cab home instead."

Juliet nodded in agreement. "Gus and Shawn checked out the bar and the cab company. Lassiter was transported to his apartment Sunday evening."

"Baaa!" Shawn cut in with a shout. "No sheep!"

Chief Vick's eyes widened at this interruption. "Please explain yourself, Mr. Spencer."

"Sorry, Chief. Sometimes, these visions just spring up out of nowhere." Shawn shook his head, adding, "I think the spirits are trying to tell me that Lassiter didn't sleep in his apartment last night."

For a moment, Vick just stared at him. "I think it might be in the best interest of the station if we investigate this quietly for the time being," she said. "I'd like to avoid any unnecessary media attention until we can get more information. O'Hara, I'll temporary take you off all current assignments. You may use two officers to assist you on this."

She shook her head in conciliation when O'Hara started to protest. "I'm sorry, but that's all I can spare right now. Start the usual traces: phone, credit cards, banking. I want you to retrace Lassiter's steps and question his neighbors and anyone who's had any contact with him in the last week. Also, put a BOLO out on his vehicle."

Shawn raised his hand and asked, "And me?"

"Yes, Mr. Spencer?" Vick returned, perplexed. "What about you?"

"I know that Lassie doesn't seem to appreciate my genius, but I'd like to help out if I can."

Vick raised an eyebrow at the genuineness of the offer. "This will require some discretion on your part, Mr. Spencer."

He pouted at the obvious reproach. "I can be discreet when I have to. There was this time in fourth grade when Gus and I…"

Vick held her hand up, effectively halting his story. "Fine. You may assist O'Hara. I want you to report directly to her if you find anything." Vick added, "And Detective O'Hara, let's handle this like we would any missing person case, which means that we need to keep in mind that Lassiter's absence might be voluntary."

Juliet stiffened at the word 'voluntary,' but said nothing in return. She gave a small nod to the Chief before hurrying out of the office. Not surprisingly, she didn't wait for Shawn to follow suit. Finally given the orders that she needed, Shawn watched as Detective O'Hara set off to do as she felt necessary to find her partner.

"Is there something else, Mr. Spencer?" Vick inquired.

Shawn hesitated, unsure how to approach a question that's been nagging at him. "Um… And if it's voluntary? I mean if Lassiter … you know."

The Chief sighed deeply in understanding. "You know what it means, Mr. Spencer. It could ruin his career. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some phone calls to make," she said as she made a 'shooing' gesture.

Shawn gave a grim nod before turning to leave her office. Vick confirmed what he already knew. If Lassiter did voluntarily disappear, it would scar not only his reputation, but his record. Shawn didn't doubt that Lassiter would be declared unfit for duty if that were the case. Despite their differences on so many (_many_) things, he had no desire to see the detective stripped of his badge or title, especially if this was just a momentary lapse in judgment.

He knew that his willingness to help probably had more to do with the Drimmer fiasco than Shawn would care to admit aloud. Deep down, he still felt that he somehow owed Lassiter._ Maybe just a little bit._ But as loathe as he was to admit it, the detective's precise shooting had saved them both.

_Who would think to stick a gun in a bowl of nuts?_

Shawn shook his head at the memory and set off to locate their lost head detective.

* * *

**MEANWHILE…**

Pain.

It was Lassiter's least favorite sensation to wake up to. His head ached fiercely and for the life of him, he had no idea why. It was eerily reminiscent of a time not too long ago. Despite his hazy memory of events in that damn warehouse, that was one thing he would never forget. _The pain_. One did not forget having a bullet ricochet off one's skull. No matter how hard he tried, the memory was always there.

_Deja-vu, but not_. His pain wasn't as extreme, not even close. No elephants clomping around his skull this time, just a steady ache that throbbed in time with his pulse.

Not a stranger to hangovers, Lassiter assumed it was unusually strong reaction from one too many scotches, and decided the best course of action was to sleep it off. As he shifted into a more comfortable position, the movement ignited a sharp ache in his arms. Startled, he tried to reposition his arms, fearing that he may have injured himself when he passed out. He had experienced enough embarrassing injuries for one lifetime. _Thank you very much_. Frankly, Lassiter had no desire to endure any more ridicule from the SBPD's peanut gallery (namely Spencer).

However, all attempts to move his arms and hands were met with resistance. Lassiter felt cold metal pinch his wrists as he tried to yank them free.

_Handcuffs?! _

Bile quickly rose to his throat as his fragmented memories rushed to greet him. With much disgust, he recalled getting sucker punched in front of his own apartment. _Some head detective_, _indeed_, Lassiter groused. _Attacked in front of your own apartment because you were too drunk to defend yourself. _He immediately cursed himself for making such a reckless error. _Always on alert._ Those words had been drilled into him as a rookie. Not only did he agree wholeheartedly with them, but he preached them on several occasions--an adept detective must never let his/her guard down. To make such a foolish and potentially deadly mistake disturbed him more than he was willing to admit.

Forcibly pushing aside those thoughts for another time, Lassiter focused his attention on his current predicament. _The handcuffs._ Despite the throbbing in his skull and surging nausea, he managed to pry his eyes open. His world was a mess of dark blurs and shadows. Blinking forcefully, he willed his blurred vision to clear. Tilting his chin down slowly, Lassiter could see that his hands were cuffed behind his back. Not only was he restrained, but he had been stripped of his coat, tie, and gun.

A quick survey of the room had revealed little, save for a tiny, dark, windowless space. The small stream of light seeping from under the door provided little in the way of a light source. He couldn't make out any other furnishings except for the chair that he currently occupied and a small table positioned next to him.

Lassiter tensed as he heard the sound of unfamiliar voices outside of his prison. Alarmed, his heart raced, causing the pain in his head to increase tenfold. It took only a moment for him to realize that the voices were drawing closer. He needed to make a decision fast. Awake and confront them, or feign unconsciousness and perhaps gain some valuable time and insight. Though it went against ever fiber of his being, he managed to close his eyes and hoped that it would be worth the sacrifice. Keeping his eyes shut and chin down, he heard the distinct 'click' of a lock released as new occupants entered the room.

"Hey! You awake?" came a deep shout, as two distinct sets of footsteps entered the room.

"He's still breathing, isn't he?" a different man asked. The voice was softer, more tentative than the first.

"Yeah," the first grunted back his answer.

"He's been out for hours! This can't be right. You hit him too hard."

"Did not! Barely smacked him. He's probably still drunk. You saw him stagger out of the cab last night."

"You know what the boss said…"

The first barked, "Shut up, moron! I know what he said." Lassiter knew from the proximity of the clomping footsteps that the man loomed over him. "Hey, Detective. Time to wake up! Wakey! Wakey!"

Lassiter wasn't able to suppress a wince as he was seized roughly by his hair. Startled, his eyes popped open. He hissed at the brightness of the light filtering in through the open door. As his eyes readjusted, he saw that the man in front of him was Caucasian, early to mid 30s, athletic build, shaved head, and brown eyes with a crooked nose. Scanning, Lassiter immediately caught sight of his weapon stuffed carelessly in the waistband of the man's pants._ Damnit_!

"Bout time you woke up," he sneered, shoving Lassiter's head to the side as he released his hair.

Lassiter growled, as the ache in his head magnified from the abuse. "You're both under arrest for assault and abduction of a police officer. Unlock these cuffs immediately," he commanded with as much authority as he could muster.

The man with the crooked nose laughed, darkly, "I don't think so. Maybe I did smack you too hard. Look around, Detective, you aren't in any position to arrest us now, are you?"

Lassiter eyes narrowed as they darted from the first captor to the second. The other man in the room stood off to the side, looking for all to see like a frightened boy. He was significantly younger than the first (perhaps 21 at the most), a Caucasian male with dark hair and portly in size.

"Who the hell are you two and what the hell is all of this?!" Lassiter demanded.

"Like we're telling you that! Man, must think we're morons," the crooked nosed captor replied sarcastically and then added, "We've been hired to keep you out of the way, Detective Lassiter."

"What? By whom?"

The man snorted, derisively. "Doesn't matter."

"Where am I?"

"Your new home for the next week or so."

"What?!" Lassiter roared. His mind reeled at the lunacy. _What the hell_?

"Listen here, Detective. Our boss wants you out of the way for a bit. Behave and this can be easy for you. Misbehave, and well… " He paused, giving Lassiter a large toothy grin as his balled his large hand into a fist.

Lassiter had little time to brace himself as the man's fist collided square into his jaw. His vision tunneled in a swirl of grey and black upon impact. A fresh wave of pain exploded along his jaw as a warm gush of blood flooded his mouth. Lassiter gagged at the cloying metallic taste and for several long moments, he allowed himself to focus only on breathing through the pain.

_Just breathe_.

It was an old and familiar mantra that seemed to help with the worst of the pain. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, Lassiter desperately struggled to maintain his grip on consciousness. For several long minutes, everything felt strangely disconnected for the detective. _Disjointed_. Like the force of the punch had knocked something loose.

However, the sudden intrusion of muffled voices snapped him back to reality. Lassiter slowly righted his head, careful not to disrupt the swarm of angry bees buzzing inside his skull. He spat blood out of his mouth, carefully testing out the responsiveness of his damaged jaw. Pain inhibited much in the way of movement, which was probably a good thing. Since he feared that it was probably broken.

"Damn it, Don! Enough!" the younger man shrieked.

Don snorted. "Shut it. No one asked you, Junior." Lassiter slowly re-opened his eyes to find the smug bastard standing in front of him, arms crossed, smirking. "I was just giving the Detective a demonstration of what will happen if he misbehaves. I think he understands. You do understand, don't you, Detective?"

Lassiter's temper raged. Years of training kept him from lashing out in retaliation. He knew it would be an idiotic and impulsive response given the current situation. _Amateurish_. Besides, he simply didn't have the advantage that he would need to successfully counterattack at the moment. _If only he had his gun_. For the time being, he was forced to sit, wait and bide his time.

He allowed his gaze to purposefully wander, waiting for the desire to act rashly to completely recede. _Odd_. He spotted the younger man standing off to the side, resting in the doorway, staring firmly at his sneakers. He made eye contact with the head detective for the briefest of moments before scurrying out of the room.

Don interrupted Lassiter's train of thought. "Don't worry, you'll be fed and watered regularly. If you're good, we might even uncuff you. Think of this as a little vacation minus the accommodations and tourist shit."

Lassiter coughed roughly, spitting more blood out onto the floor. "Felony assault and kidnapping an officer of the law, that's at least 20 years in prison, you son of a bitch. What you're making can't be worth that?" he replied angrily, as the left half of his jaw began to swell.

Don laughed lightly. "Nice try, but it is and then some." He turned and shouted, "Yo, Junior, bring me some water!"

Within a minute, Junior had returned with a bottle of water and straw in his hands and handed them over to his other captor. "Don't call me that."

Don snorted and quickly placed the items on the table before turning to face Lassiter. "Okay, your hands will remain cuffed for now. Feel free to roam around your new digs. Before you get too excited, there's no way to escape. Door's locked. Try something and I'll shoot you."

Lassiter could tell from the look in the man's eyes that it wasn't an idle threat. The man had every intention of following through if the detective attempted to escape. "I'll be back to feed you in a couple of hours," Don called out, before slamming the door shut.

_Crap,_ Lassiter swore softly, as the room plunged into darkness once more.

* * *

**TBC**

Thanks for reading! Comments, critiques and feedback are welcome.

Completely unrelated A/N on Psych's midseason finale ("Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark")-- Without spoiling, I believe all I can say is **WOW!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimers et al**—See chapter 1

**Feedback**—Comments, critique, and suggestions are welcome.

**Spoilers**—Seasons 1-3

**Special Thanks**: As always, thank you to my betas extraordinaire, k and em. Extra thank you to all of the reviewers and readers! You rock!

**A/N: ** Sadly, I have firsthand experience with the joys of a bruised and swollen jaw. Worst couple of weeks of my life. Pure misery.

_**Quick little side note:**_ While this is a "GEN" fic, I feel that Shawn is somewhat of a pathological flirt. And while this story does make several references to his ongoing relations with Abigail (in keeping with canon), he will continue his perpetual flirtation with a certain blonde-haired junior detective. Hope that clarifies things a bit.

**Summary**: Shawn and Company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing.

* * *

****CHAPTER 4****

"_Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you mad." _

_(Aldous Huxley)_

**MONDAY NIGHT**

True to his captor's word, a few hours later, both men returned. As promised, Lassiter was provided a small meal (ham sandwich), along with the opportunity to relieve other pressing (more personal) matters. Once finished, Lassiter's hands were re-cuffed in front of his body and shackled to the small metal table. Throughout the entire process, Don kept his gun trained on him as Junior dealt with the cuffs. There had been no opportunities for escape, not with both men present.

With the audible "click" of the lock and a derisive "sleep tight," Lassiter was left alone in the dark once again. He sighed deeply before leaning over to take a sip of water. The cool water provided some relief to the abused soft tissue in his mouth. Slowly moving his tongue around, he gently probed the damage. He could still taste blood, but it wasn't as much as before. He figured that it was probably a good sign given the amount of force placed into the blow. That son of a bitch certainly knew how to throw a right hook.

_Damn._

The ham sandwich sat untouched on the table, he wasn't quite up to chewing at the moment. Besides, residual nausea still lingered in the back of his throat making the idea of food unappetizing. The throbbing in his head warred with burning ache in his jaw. The left side of his face felt like it was on fire. He gently rubbed a hand over his face, careful to avoid his swollen jaw and cheek. The effects of adrenaline had long since faded. And in its wake, there was only self doubt and recrimination.

Sighing deeply, Lassiter pushed himself to his feet. Despite his various aches and pains, he couldn't sit still any longer. However, as soon as he was on his feet, dizziness threatened to topple him. It took a couple of long, nauseating minutes before he considered himself safely upright.

His captors had been generous enough to give him plenty of length on his chain-link leash to walk. He paced the room, though he loathed calling it that. It was perhaps four feet wide by six feet long, more a closet or pantry than an actual room. He awkwardly brushed his cuffed hands along the wood paneled walls and wooden door. Leaning against the door, he heard the deep muffled voice of his captors. The space was warm, stuffy and stank of cedar, or maybe it was mildew. Not that it mattered, the smell was unpleasant. His instincts told him that his prison was probably a shack or cabin of sorts.

However, the purpose of all of this was beyond him at the moment. Settling back into the chair again, he forced himself to eat some bread. Upon reconsideration, he figured a little food might quell his churning stomach. While he ate, he started to mentally go over potential suspects. _Who had the means, motive, and opportunity?_ That chatty bastard, Don, had suggested that he was being kept out of the way for a reason. It clearly wasn't for revenge as Lassiter had originally suspected, which narrowed the potential list down quite a bit. He briefly wondered if he had been kidnapped for monetary gain, but the notion was ridiculous at best. There was little to be gained from ransoming a police officer. Even though he earned the title of Head Detective, he wasn't more than a public servant for Santa Barbara. And public servants weren't considered valuable commodities.

Clearly, someone went to a great deal of effort to keep Lassiter indisposed. _Think,_ he cursed himself. _Who'd benefit?_ He had several upcoming parole hearings within the next two weeks that would be impacted by his abduction. But he immediately rejected the idea as none of them fit the profile. Plus, the majority of them would be paroled, whether he appeared or not. Moreover, O'Hara could easily stand in for him; his presence wasn't necessary.

Since it wasn't likely a potential parole candidate, perhaps he was being used as a decoy._ Did they think that the SBPD would put its full attention into investigating his disappearance and ignore all criminal activities for the next week? _he wondered.

The idea was absurd, given the current budget restrictions and personnel shortages. But Lassiter had met plenty of dumbass criminals over the years. It was certainly a possibility to keep in mind. Nevertheless, it wasn't like any of this had to make sense to him. He'd met more than his fair share of criminals whose motives only made sense to them. He just had to identify his abductors and their boss, so they could be held accountable for their crimes. The motivation would likely reveal itself in time. In the meantime, he started to methodically re-examine the events of the past week. Asking the one question he knew that he'd never find an answer to.

_What the hell did I do to deserve this?_

* * *

**TUESDAY MORNING**

"No!" Gus answered firmly.

Shawn pouted. "Why not?"

"It's a terrible idea."

"Why?!" he asked as they maneuvered around the bustle of activity clogging the halls of the SBPD.

Gus shook his head in exasperation, having to quickly sidestep a series of officers transporting a suspect towards the interrogation rooms. "Members Only jackets with an embroidered collie on the back? You don't think it's completely inappropriate?"

"Dude, every team needs a uniform," Shawn returned. "TBLH wouldn't be a team without them."

"TBLH?" Gus asked, perplexed.

Shawn grinned. "_Team Bring Lassie Home_. Catchy, isn't it?"

"I don't think either Chief Vick or Juliet would agree with you on that or the jackets."

He paused, brow deeply furrowed, then nodded. "You're right. Fine. No jackets. How about tee shirts?"

"No, Shawn," Gus said with a frown.

"A light-weight poly blend tee. We can stick Lassiter's face on them, 'Lost Lassie', if spotted, please call the SBPD."

"Shawn!" Gus scolded, giving a Shawn a sharp look of warning.

"Geesh. Didn't realize you were so sensitive about poly-bend. We can order them in organic cotton if you want. I know how delicate you are, wouldn't want you to get chafed."

"I happen to have very sensitive skin and that's not the point!" Gus retorted. "Lassiter's been MIA since Sunday. You heard those desk officers. They made it sound like he had some kind of nervous breakdown and just took off. Do you think that's possible?"

Shawn sighed, irritably. "Ugh. I've asked myself that about a hundred times since Jules called yesterday. I don't know. There's no evidence to support a crime. I know he loves this job, but man, he's been so depressed lately. I'm not entirely convinced either way."

"You better not let Juliet hear you say that."

"Right." _Discretion and decorum_, Shawn reminded himself.

'Team Bring Lassie Home' (or TBLH), as Shawn dubbed them, were forced to use an empty interrogation room as their command center for the time being. Their group of five had assembled for their morning debriefing. As Shawn and Gus strolled in, they were handed very thick manila folders by Officer Green. Off to the side, McNab was busy arranging a series of names and photos on the whiteboard.

_Five minus one. _

Before Shawn had a chance to inquire about Juliet's whereabouts, in she flew with a large stack of files in her hands. "Okay, everyone," Juliet said as she took a seat at the head of the table. "Let's review what we know up to this point."

Sitting next to her right, Shawn turned his head to regard the detective. While her voice was the epitome of professionalism, Shawn would bet his 'Back to the Future' collector's mugs that she hadn't slept a wink last night.

Juliet gave McNabb a small nod and said, "Buzz, if you would."

The younger man nodded. "Sure. Detective Lassiter was last seen on Sunday around ten o'clock. Per eyewitness statements, he left Ike's Tavern alone and took an SB cab home. Unfortunately, that was the last time anyone saw him. Green and I questioned his neighbors yesterday and no one saw him on Sunday. Two of Lassiter's neighbors were out of town and one was at work at the time. There have been no claims of any unusual activity or suspect persons in the area."

Juliet nodded again and added, "I've spoken with Yates from CSU and preliminary reports are negative for blood. All of Lassiter's personal weapons, except for his service piece, have been accounted for. They will continue fingerprinting into this morning and should have more information for us by midday."

"I ran the traces on Lassiter's phone, credit and banking," Officer Green reported. "So far, there's been no activity on all three since his disappearance. His last phone call was to the cab company on Sunday. The last report from the GPS on his phone put him near his apartment, but we've had nothing since. Either his phone is turned off or the GPS has been disabled."

"How about Lassiter's ride? Any Crown Vic spottings?" Shawn asked as he casually leafed through the folder in front of him.

McNab answered with a shake of his head, "None."

Gus looked up from the mammoth packet in front of him and asked, "Didn't Lassiter have a GPS installed in his car after it was stolen?"

"Yes," Juliet replied with a hint of a smile. "But it was recalled about two months ago due to a faulty chip or something like that. He was supposed to receive a replacement about a week ago and has been complaining about it ever since."

Changing topics with a shake of her head, she added, "Shawn and I called as many contacts of Lassiter's that I could think of. His mom, family, friends, retired colleagues, his ex-wife. No one's heard from him."

"So, what do we do now?" Gus asked.

"In the folder is a list of every parolee, ex-convict or former suspect that might have a grudge against Lassiter," Juliet answered.

"And the list is a mile long," Shawn shook his head and held up one of the mug shots. "Dude, Lassiter arrested this guy back in 1990 for auto theft. I think we need to look more recently."

"Recent?" McNab wondered. "Why?"

"Assuming that this isn't Lassie's clever way of enjoying a little Tijuana fun in the sun without us…" A sharp nudge in the ribs from Gus stopped him from finishing that thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Juliet's disapproving glare.

Switching gears, he cleared his throat and offered, "Hear me out: if he was snatched, why now? He'd been off duty for months recovering. If it was just revenge, why not do so then? It would've have been easy. So, why now?"

Green asked. "You think this has to do with a more recent case?"

"Could," Shawn shrugged. "Visions have been offline. I'm only getting static. I think it could be some kind of psychic block. Maybe my chi is out of alignment."

Ignoring his partner's ramblings, Gus interrupted, "Not to suggest anything, but could it be possible that Lassiter took a flight somewhere?"

Green nodded. "We're looking into that angle. We've set up an alert at the local airports. So far he hasn't been spotted at the municipal airport or LAX. But they'll continue to monitor for him and/or passport activity.

"Lassiter has parole meetings on Antonio Ruiz and Michael Washington this week and next," McNab reported, eagerly.

Juliet shook her head. "Both will likely be granted parole. Besides, I can fill in for Lassiter on them."

There was a loud knock on the door. Officer Garibaldi popped her head in, "Sorry to interrupt, Detective, but the Chief would like to see you in her office."

Juliet offered a quick 'thank you' and stood to collect her files. "Okay. I'll go fill the Chief on what we've found up to this point." She spoke quickly, issuing orders as she started walking towards the door. "Buzz and Tim, please look into the list of potential suspects. Find out if any of them have motive or opportunity. Shawn and Gus, if you don't mind, can you help them with that?"

Shawn sprung up from his chair and rushed to intercept her as she left the room. "Jules, I don't…" Shawn said, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. For a moment, the carefully honed mask of professionalism slipped. He could clearly see the lines of tension on her face. Her bright eyes were dimmed by fatigue and sadness. "Please, Shawn, not now," she requested softly.

He was standing close enough to hear the unspoken plea in that soft request. _Don't make this harder on her than necessary_, he reminded himself. "Sure, Jules," he answered just as softly.

With a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, O'Hara quickly stepped away and headed towards Vick's office.

* * *

**MEANWHILE…**

Lassiter was beyond exhausted. Bone weariness had settled in at some point during the night, along with handful of new aches. Wincing, he slowly stretched out the kinks in his back. He managed to stay alert for most of the night, mentally going over the list of potential suspects that would pay to have him abducted. He had dozed off on a couple of occasions, only to jerk awake at every unexpected sound. Not surprisingly, he hadn't been able to get any real sleep. Not that he had expected to fall asleep here, what with the hard chair, handcuffs and being a prisoner and all.

He slowly rubbed his eyes with his cuffed hands, idly wondering how much suffering his body could take. The lack of sleep was taking its toll. He'd hardly slept over the past three months. It was the worst bout of insomnia that he had had in over a decade. He couldn't be sure of the cause. Did it stem from that damn case and the missing girl? Or his ex-wife? Or was it just another complication from his head injury?_ Six of one, half a dozen of the other._ Unfortunately, knowing the potential causes didn't seem to matter. He still didn't sleep much anymore. _Perhaps Dr. Kilpatrick had been right_, he thought. _He needed to learn to let things go_. A sharp knock jolted him out of his melancholy and back to reality. Lassiter glanced up at the door, as he heard the lock unlatch.

The young man, Junior, slowly entered carrying a small plate of food and a bottle of water. He stared warily at the detective as he set the plate and water down on the table. "I brought you breakfast."

Lassiter grunted, not exactly in the mood for conversation. The left half of his jaw had ballooned up to twice its usual size over night. The swelling stretched up from his chin and stopped just under his left eye. It ached intensely.

He glanced at the bagel then glared at the young man standing nervously next to him. Lassiter lifted his cuffed hands off the table to push the bagel away.

"What are you doing? You need to eat." Junior asked, shocked.

The authenticity of the younger man's sympathy surprised Lassiter. _What was this kid up to? Some kind of ploy? _hewondered._ Lull him into compliance with a little sympathy, a little 'good cop.' _

"How?!" Lassiter demanded, speaking through clenched teeth. He angrily waved a hand over his injured face.

"Oh." Junior ducked his head in embarrassment. "I forgot. Sorry. Can't you just chew on the other side?"

Lassiter growled. "What do you think?"

"God, that looks terrible." Junior winced. "Do you need something for it? I might have some Tylenol. Or I can get you something easier to eat."

_Is he kidding?_ Lassiter shook his head again, unwilling to place any trust in his captor. He was well schooled in the art of interrogations and wasn't going to fall victim to this kid's weak psychological tactics.

"You've hardly had anything to eat." Junior frowned, gesturing at the remnants of last night's ham sandwich. "I'll find something else."

"What is this?" Lassiter demanded, angrily, as Junior picked the bagel off the plate. "You can drop the nice guy act! It's not going to work."

Junior froze with the bagel in hand, confused. "What? I'm just supposed to give you breakfast."

Lassiter fumed. "And you think being all sympathetic gets you Brownie points? Screw you! It's not like I'm going to think better of you for it. You have me chained up in some damn closet!"

"Asshole. I'm just trying to help!"

"You want to help me, nitwit? Uncuff me and let me go!"

Shaking his head, Junior yelled. "I can't do that!"

Lassiter merely rolled his eyes in response. Yelling, as per usual, made things worse. The pain in his jaw had intensified to the point where he didn't think he'd be able to open his mouth wide enough to eat. He gingerly rubbed his hand along his left temple, hoping to will away the stabbing pain that radiated along his face.

The younger man huffed, before saying, "Okay. I'm going to go find you something to eat, I'll be back soon."

"Why are you doing this?" Lassiter asked softly. His jaw moved only marginally as he spoke. He was relieved to find that the pain was more manageable at this volume.

The younger man stared at his sneakers in contemplation, before casually shrugging his shoulders. "It's a job."

His attempts at forced nonchalance were almost painful to watch. Lassiter could see that the kid was scared. And the detective hoped that he could use that to his advantage. "Look… Kid… Junior…"

The man's head snapped up suddenly, eyes blazing in fury. "Don't call me that!"

Lassiter held his hands up, nonplussed, and said, "Fine. What do you want me to call you?"

His captor regarded him carefully. After some deliberation, he replied, "Mike. You can call me Mike."

"Fine, Mike. Look," Lassiter paused, struggling to find the right words. _Damn! Where was O'Hara when he needed her? He didn't have the knack for this. _

"You got in over your head. You made a mistake, but it doesn't have to be one that ruins your life. If you unlock these cuffs and let me go, I can talk with the DA about lesser charges," he spoke calmly, hoping to reason with the man.

Mike snorted, sarcastically. "Oh, really? You have no idea what I've gotten myself into. These men will kill me if I don't follow through on my end of the deal. How's that for ruining my life?!"

"We can help," Lassiter pressed, "You can be placed in witness relocation. There'll be safeguards in place to protect you."

"Are you kidding? They got to your witness!" he shouted. "That security guard, whatever his name was, they made him disappear. God only knows what they'll do to me!"

Lassiter stared at the man in genuine disbelief as a 'click' went off in his brain. _Damn! Damn! Damn it_! He cursed himself for not considering this sooner. With that indirect admission, Lassiter quickly established the likely culprits behind his abduction. However, realization alone wasn't going to cut it. There'd be no opportunity to see these men brought to justice if he was stuck here. He had to get out of here first.

"What they'll do to you," Lassiter repeated. "How about me? Planning on letting me walk away after you boss is released? Doubtful. Oh, and that's the goal of all of this, right? Get Maher released." It wasn't a question.

Mike jerked his head in an approximation of a nod. "Once he's free, we'll contact the cops and they'll come and get you."

"Yeah. And when things don't go according to your plans?"

"They will and already have. You haven't been watching the news. No witness, circumstantial evidence, and you're gone. It's just a matter of time before the judge dismisses the charges."

"How delightful," Lassiter snapped, hissing as pain flared in his jaw.

"Look, all you have to do is sit here and do nothing for a couple of days. Maybe a week. That's all. No one has to get hurt. Or hurt more," he said, gesturing to Lassiter's bruised face.

Lassiter cursed under his breath at the naiveté of this kid. _Does he really believe the malarkey that he's spouting?_

"I can't uncuff you, so don't ask," Mike said. "But I can grab you something else to eat and a little ice for your face. I'll be back in a bit." With the bagel in one hand, he scoped up both plates in the other and quickly exited.

Lassiter sighed, propping his head in his hands. He didn't think for one minute that Maher and these goons were going to allow him to live after this. Despite this kid's insistence, he knew his days were numbered. He needed to find a way out and fast.

* * *

**TBC… **

Thanks for reading! Feedback and comments are welcome.

My apologies for the delay. Work has kept me insanely busy lately. I have a little vacation time coming up in the near future. With any luck, I'll be able to work on this story in between servings of turkey, mashed potatoes and pie. Mmm. Pie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers et al**-- See Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Seasons 1-3

**A/N:** My sincere apologies for the unusually long delay. Unfortunately, work has left me with no free time. It's been more or less non-stop since September. I've taken to jotting down story notes on post-its and writing in/around holiday gatherings. It's a sad state of affairs. Work, work, work makes for a very dull Miss Weather.

**Special Acknowledgments:** I'd like to take this opportunity to say "thank you" to all of you who have left reviews. I greatly appreciate the feedback! And to my betas, k and em: thank you for your ongoing support and assistance! I'm forever in your debt!

**Summary:**** Shawn and company must hunt for answers when Lassiter goes missing. **

**

* * *

  
**

**** CHAPTER 5 ****

**

* * *

  
**

"_The difference between perseverance and obstinacy is that one often comes from a strong will and the other from a strong won't."_

_Henry Ward Beecher_

_

* * *

_

_*_

_**  
_

**TUESDAY (PM)  
**

Shawn pressed the heel of his hands against his eyelids. They had spent the better part of the day going through O'Hara's potential suspect list. As he predicted, they turned up nothing on Lassiter's whereabouts. It was becoming some sort of bizarre game of 'hide and seek.' And it was starting to aggravate Shawn. He knew they were looking in the wrong direction. He just needed some clue, some hint, something to point them in the right direction. But, so far, they'd found nothing.

_Nada. Zero. Zilch. _

They'd managed to systematically work through the entire list of six dozen suspects within the day. Only three of the former convicts had sufficient motive to warrant a closer look. The first, Arnold Malloy, had done hard time for assault and armed robbery. According to statements, Malloy harbored a grudge against Lassiter for arresting him, threatening to exact his revenge if he ever had the opportunity. However, one quick interview with the ex-con turned priest, and Shawn felt that it was fairly safe to exclude him from their list. _Apparently, time does heal old wounds_. Malloy had spent the last two years living in a monastery and was preaching to the infirm the night Lassiter disappeared.

The other two, the Cutler brothers, Martin and Bernard, were arrested for running a handful of chop shops throughout Santa Barbara back in 2000. They had lost hundreds of thousands and publicly threatened Lassiter during their court hearing. Unfortunately, both brothers had air-tight alibis. One was in the Ventura county lock-up at the time and the other was undergoing dialysis in Denver.

Now finished with that wild goose chase, two-fifths of TBLH had been assigned to review some of the various open-ended threats that had been sent to the station over the last year. While Gus sat at the computer, carefully reviewing 'hate emails,' Shawn lounged with feet propped up on the desk, occupying himself with his paperclip chain.

Turning his head, Shawn idly watched McNab escort an elderly man towards the Chief's office. "Hey, is that Orville Redenbacher?" Shawn whispered, flicking a paperclip at the side of Gus's head to gain his attention.

"Hey!" Gus snapped, not looking away from the monitor. "I will knock you on your ass. You know I can."

Laughing, Shawn chucked a handful of paperclips in Gus's direction. "Looks like someone missed his afternoon nap. You're not even looking! It's so him. King of the perfect popcorn himself!"

Gus shot him a look of irritation. "I don't know how that can be, Shawn, seeing as the man has been dead for over a decade."

Shawn smirked, simply pointing at the white-haired man walking down the hall. "Looks just like him. White hair, black horn-rimmed glassed, suit with a bow tie-- the spitting image of Mr. Redenbacher."

"That's not Orville Redenbacher. That's Dr. Schumacher," Gus stated.

Cocking his head to the side, Shawn asked, "Who?"

"Dr. Montgomery Schumacher, clinical psychiatrist."

Shaking his head, Shawn hissed, "First the Pekingese and now this? Dude, only one psychic per team. Remember?!"

"Real funny. Pharmaceutical rep for Central Coast Pharmaceuticals. Ring any bells?" Not waiting for Shawn to answer, Gus continued, "Dr. Schumacher took over Dr. Matheson's practice after he passed away. I don't know him personally, but I hear that he's one of the best in the state."

"Interesting," Shawn said, watching the elderly man greet Detective O'Hara and Chief Vick in the hall before entering Vick's office.

"What are you going to do?" Gus asked, warily.

Shawn stood, adopting his most innocent look. "Who, me? Nothing. I'm just going to head over and see if Jules needs my help with anything."

Ignoring Gus's scowl, he dashed around a handful of desks. Running, he bodily threw himself at the closing door, crashing into it with an audible "thud."

The door swung back open to reveal a very perturbed-looking Vick. With hands firmly on her hips, she gave him a sharp look of disapproval. "Mr. Spencer, do you mind?"

He nodded sharply, fingers fixed near his temples, "I'm getting something. Ink blobs. No wait, it's a message. Yes! It's coming in clearer…" He waved his right hand around. "Oh, it's from Dr. Matheson, he says, 'peace out,' to his man here, Dr. S." Shawn smiled and waved to the older man seated in front of Vick's desk.

Dr. Schumacher gasped, his white eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Excuse me, young man. Is this some kind of perverse joke?"

"I would never kid about such things," Shawn said solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm merely a medium, a carrier pigeon for the spirits."

Frowning, the doctor looked at Shawn then quickly glanced to O'Hara and Vick for further clarification. "Karen?"

Sighing, Vick walked over to her desk and took a seat. "Shawn Spencer is a special consultant for our department, who happens to receive psychic visions. Mr. Spencer has been helping us locate our missing detective."

"I see," Dr. Shumacher said. His eyebrows still deeply furrowed in confusion. "And we haven't met before?"

Shawn shook his head, perching himself on the edge of a low cabinet. "Nope."

"Mr. Spencer, if you don't mind, I'd like to get on with this. You can stay and observe, but keep quiet," Vick ordered. "Dr. Schumacher is filling in for Dr. Kilpatrick, the precinct's psychologist, while she's out on maternity leave."

Schumacher adjusted his glasses as he glanced down at the files on his lap. "I haven't had an opportunity to meet your detective or converse at length with Lindsay on this case. However, she did provide me with her current files and notes." He cleared his throat and added, "As you know, I cannot divulge any sensitive or confidential information that occurred during sessions."

"We understand." Vick nodded. "We're exploring all possible avenues at this time. And we need to know if there's a possibility that Lassiter's disappearance may be medical in nature?"

He nodded. "You're concerned that it might be PTSD."

"Yes," Vick responded.

Schumacher rubbed his hand over his chin as he read the file on his lap. "I see that the detective suffered a traumatic head injury not too long ago. I gather from these notes that there had been a series of complications, infections and setbacks. Dr. Kilpatrick was concerned that he returned to work too soon after his injury."

He paused, as he flipped a page. "Hmm. But he passed all of his required physical and psychological fitness tests after his extended medical leave. It's my understanding from our conversations, Karen, that there have been increased concerns with the detective's behavior since his return."

Vick nodded. "Lassiter's been a bit more intense."

"That's a bit of an understatement," Shawn snickered.

Schumacher cocked an eyebrow at the comment. "Oh? Have there been any precipitating events associated with this behavior?"

Shawn watched as Vick glanced at O'Hara. The junior detective sat with her head down, staring at her hands, "Detective O'Hara?" Vick prompted.

Juliet lifted her head with a deep sigh. "He's been out of sorts for awhile. More or less came to a head with this case. He's been fixated on finding Michelle Gray. I don't think he's been sleeping much." Shaking her head, she said, "And he's been almost unbearable to work with. More moody…"

"Who knew that was possible?" Shawn quipped.

Ignoring his comment, she continued, "Like I was saying, he's been off. And there was the whole thing with his ex-wife."

"His ex-wife?" Schumacher questioned.

Juliet frowned, looking uncomfortable with the subject. "Yes, his ex-wife got remarried this weekend. He didn't take it well." Silence stretched for several long moments as Juliet fidgeted a bit in her seat.

"And?" the doctor encouraged.

Taking pity on her, Shawn jumped in, "It was a page six spectacle, Doc. Inks not even dry on their divorce papers and his ex marries some famous jazz dude. Pianist? Something like that. Anyway, it was a huge affair. Ceremony at sea, reception on Catalina, and well, Lassiter kind of freaked and had the guy detained for a bit."

Shrugging his shoulders, he casually added, "Just a little misunderstanding, Chief, and everything worked out in the end. The happy couple is off honeymooning in Hawaii. They even promised to bring me back some pineapple."

Schumacher nodded. "I see. It definitely seems like your detective has been under a lot of personal and professional stress since his return from medical leave. The culmination of stressors may have reached a point where Lassiter felt that he had no recourse."

"Do you feel this could be PTSD? Or related to the head injury?" Vick asked.

"While I cannot speak specifically, personality and temperament changes are not uncommon in individuals following a traumatic head injury. Increased moodiness and impulsivity are frequently documented. I can't say whether the agitation and other erratic behaviors observed in Detective Lassiter are related to his injury or are more stress-related in nature."

"Would suddenly disappearing without contacting anyone fit either of those characterizations?" Vick inquired.

"Yes, but it's pure speculation."

"I won't hold it against you, Doctor, if you speculate,"

"If Lassiter saw these events as personal failures- the case and his divorce then, yes, it's possible. But like I said, this is only speculation on my part."

Vick frowned. "Is Lassiter a danger to himself or others?"

"Chief!" Juliet protested.

Vick raised a hand to silence any further objections. "Detective O'Hara, please, I understand, but I need to make sure. He is armed."

"I'm sorry, Karen, but I don't have sufficient information on Detective Lassiter to make that determination," Schumacher answered. "It's clear that your detective is capable of acting out rashly when pushed to an emotional extreme. But there's no evidence of unwarranted violence towards others or himself."

"It's not possible," Juliet argued. "Even with him behaving oddly, he's not capable of that. He values the law far too much to abuse it like that."

"No one is accusing Lassiter of anything," Vick said.

"Of course not, it's all speculation." Juliet's reply was uncharacteristically sarcastic. "We still don't know that he left of his own volition. All of this speculation doesn't bring us closer to finding him." Briskly pushing herself to her feet, she nodded to Vick and Schumacher. "If you'll excuse me, I need to continue looking for my partner."

Shawn stared at her, mouth open in shock, as she marched out of the office, practically slamming the door on her way out. "Wow."

The Chief blinked in surprise, before she turned to face Shawn. "Mr. Spencer, if you'll excuse us."

With a nod, he departed Vick's office, then found the blonde detective sitting at her desk, furiously pounding at her keyboard.

"Hey," he said lightly as he approached.

Her face was tilted toward the computer, the light of the screen outlining her profile. Shawn rested on the edge of her desk, watching her gnaw on her lower lip. Her face was easy to read. _An open book, _Shawn thought.

"Hey," she answered quietly without turning to face him.

"That was some exit… But, you know, SBPD already has a short-tempered and cranky detective. I think there's a limit of just one per precinct," Shawn teased.

"You don't believe that do you?" Juliet asked, seemingly apropos of nothing.

"Huh?"

She sighed and turned to face him. "You don't believe that Lassiter would just walk away? Disappear without telling us?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Orville kind of made a good point in there."

Juliet shook her head emphatically. "No. I don't buy it. He wouldn't run away. He's insanely devoted to this job. Hell, the Chief had to ban him from the office during his recovery. This isn't someone that could just walk away."

"Jules. Sometimes, people just reach their limit. It's not like you can always predict how you're going to react when that happens."

She eyed him and then said, "I'm his partner, Shawn. He wouldn't run way just because things got tough. He lives and breathes for this."

"I know, Jules," Shawn argued. "But sometimes you find yourself trapped and you just have to get away for a bit. Maybe this is Lassiter's way of taking a little vacation. Finding a little perspective"

"Do you really believe that, Shawn?" Juliet questioned him with a scowl. Not waiting for his response, she said, "If you do, then I don't want you here." Her voice was clipped and cold as she spun back to face the computer.

Shawn blinked, taken aback by her tone. He knew well enough not to take the outburst personally. After all, he couldn't exactly fault her for sticking up for her partner. _It's what partners do_. But he was rather worried for her. She was beginning to lose her perspective and that wasn't going to help Lassiter.

Leaning over her desk, he gently poked her on the shoulder. "You know, I'm here to help, Jules," he said with a gentle smile.

Closing her eyes, she nodded her head. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just..." her voice trailed off.

"Hungry and tired," Shawn reasoned. "Let's grab a bite to eat and I can take you home."

"Shawn, I have work to do."

"You aren't going to do Lassiter any favors if you're too exhausted to think clearly. You need to eat and get a decent night's sleep."

Juliet gave him a little smile. "You're right, of course."

"We can do a little take out at your place. Then off to bed with you! Do you know that I'm amazingly skilled at tucking people in?" he joked. "Just ask Gus."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Shawn, I don't think that'll be necessary."

"Just checking," he said with a wink.

Juliet stuffed a handful of notes into her purse before pushing herself to her feet. "Um, Shawn. Thank you."

"For?"

"For listening. I appreciate it." She fumbled through her purse for her keys, speaking so softly that Shawn had to lean forward. "It's just that I know something's wrong. Really wrong. Call it instinct, intuition, whatever. I know it. We need to find Lassiter and find him fast."

Nodding his head in what he hoped looked like conviction, "I understand, Jules."

"Thanks." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze and said, "Why don't you and Gus head off for the night? We can meet back here tomorrow morning."

"What about dinner? I'll get Gus and we can grab a little Mexican? Or maybe some Thai? You pick."

"No, I think I'll just go home. You're right. I'm tired. And a tired cop is prone to making poor decisions and rash judgments," she stated.

"Oh?"

The ghost of a smile grazed her lips, "It's one of Lassiter's rules. The 125th one, I think." Sighing, she turned to leave. "I will see you tomorrow. Tell Gus I said 'thank you' too."

Shawn returned the smile, "Okay. Are you sure about dinner?"

"I am. Have a good night."

He watched her walk away for a moment before returning to the desk that Gus occupied. "Any luck?" Shawn inquired.

"No," Gus answered, sounding tired and frustrated. "You?"

"Not exactly. Let's go grab dinner. I need to know everything that you know on PTSD and head injuries."

* * *

**ELSEWHERE**

Lassiter gingerly rolled his head from side to side, carefully trying to displace some of the stiffness in his neck. He had been sitting in the dark for too long now. A couple of days of near motionlessness in this closet had left him feeling like an old man.

He glanced down at his watch, though quickly recognized the futility of the endeavor. The small slivers of artificial light that seeped under the door were simply not bright enough to read by. With some awkward maneuvering, he slid his fingers around the dial, until he activated the small LED feature on his watch. A pale blue light illuminated his watch face and corroborated what he had assumed.

_It was late._

_Time was such a fickle, bastardly thing, _Lassiter wearily thought, as he gently propped his head in his hands. He couldn't help but wonder how time could move by so quickly in one moment and drag on endlessly in another. In a blink of an eye, twenty-four hours had become forty-eight. And what did he have to show for his time?

_Nothing. Nothing, but a myriad of bruises and a swollen jaw, _he thought wearily.

He'd been "here" since Sunday night. _Forty-eight hours_. However, he still had no idea where "here" was. For all of his speculations and probing conversations with Mike, he had learned nothing of relevance. His young captor was surprisingly tight-lipped when it came to specific conversation topics. For all Lassiter knew, he was being held captive in the bowels of hell. Given the sweltering heat, "hell" was certainly a possibility that he kept at the top of the list.

_Trapped and cuffed to this goddamn table. _

With a bit of perverse curiosity, he idly wondered what his partner and the others made of all of this. Would they think him missing, abducted, or simply left of his own accord?

Lassiter shook his head, unwilling to dwell on those thoughts for another second. He sighed deeply and stiffly pushed himself to his feet. Sitting in the dark was beginning to wear on his already frayed nerves and the stifling heat wasn't helping matters. He needed a plan. He needed a way out now.

However, he was no closer to finding a way out today than he was yesterday. One exit with an armed guard or two didn't leave him with a lot of options. He was beginning to worry that it might be altogether impossible to escape without outside help. While the kid seemed sympathetic to his plight, Lassiter wasn't willing to wager his life on a couple of Tylenol and a little consideration. He knew that things wouldn't bode well for him if he couldn't find a way out soon.

"Damn it!" Lassiter quietly cursed himself.

There was no doubt in his mind that his own careless actions had led to his current predicament. He should have been alert and on guard that night, as he had trained himself to be for decades. Instead, he'd indulged himself in monumental amounts of self-pity, self-loathing, and scotch. His ineptitude had led him to stumble blindly into such an obvious trap.

_Such a fool_, Lassiter thought, tiredly scrubbing his hands over his face.

The little action had awakened the dull throbbing sensation, encompassing half of his face. He held his hand firmly against his bruised cheek, feeling the steady warmth and deep ache. The pain fueled his anger, acting as the proverbial kick in the pants that he needed. Closing his eyes, Lassiter took a series of deep, slow breaths. Marshalling his resolve, he forced his doubts and fears into submission. There would be time for self-flagellation later. Maher and his goons were responsible and needed to be held accountable for their crimes. He was not going to allow these men to escape justice.

_No, not this time, _he vowed to himself. _Not if I can stop them._

Taking another calm breath, he willed himself to be patient. All that he needed to do was bide his time, then strike when the opportunity presented itself.

* * *

**TUESDAY NIGHT **

Shawn aimlessly drove his bike around Santa Barbara, too wound to head back to his apartment. Too many of things about Lassiter's disappearance disturbed him. Despite Juliet's comments, he just wasn't entirely convinced that Lassiter didn't leave on his own accord. And the conversations with Gus and Dr. Schumacher didn't help matters.

If the detective had opted to disappear, then it would complicate matters. Shawn knew that it would be nearly impossible to find Lassiter if he didn't want to be found. The detective was far too skilled, far too knowledgeable in police proceedings. If he wanted to leave without a trace, he was more than capable of doing so. However, for the sake of O'Hara, Shawn hoped that wasn't the case.

Unfortunately, cruising around on his bike was doing nothing for his circling thoughts. Spotting the still illuminated lower level at his father's house, Shawn figured it was safe to pop in for a quick visit. Taking the risk, he pulled into the driveway and entered through the back door.

"Dad," Shawn called out, turning the lights on in the kitchen. He immediately strolled to the fridge to grab a small snack. "It's just me."

"In here," came an uncharacteristically hoarse reply.

Surprised, Shawn abandoned his snack and walked into the living room. Not surprisingly, he found his father reclined on the sofa watching TV. What was surprising was the pharmacy of cold remedies lined up on the coffee table and the small mountain of used tissues covering the floor.

"Well, wonders never cease. You're sick!" Shawn announced with a little too much glee in his voice.

Henry rolled his eyes and whispered, "Congratulations, Shawn. What gave it away? The pile of Kleenex? The bottle of Nyquil? Or the laryngitis?"

He shook his head, chuckling. "Here I thought this was just another fake out to get out of dinner with me on Monday. Not like you can blame me. You've faked sick so many times to get out of something." He held up his hands as he counted, "Going camping with me, brunch with Abby and dinner with the Gusters."

Coughing into a tissue, Henry mumbled, "Obviously not."

"Gee, Pops, this must suck for you."

"You have no idea." Henry paused, sneezing loudly, then added, "I got roped into taking Claudia and her grandkids to one of those god awful family restaurants. You know the ones with the arcades. Snot nosed brats running around everywhere. I must have picked something up from one of them."

"Claudia. Is she your new lady friend?" he asked, hoping it sounded like a casual question.

"Lady friend?" Henry repeated in a tone that suggested Shawn had failed miserably in his attempt. "Yes, Shawn, she is."

"Hmm," Shawn shifted his weight from one foot to the other in an awkward little dance. "Do I see a double date in our future? You, her, Abigail and me."

Henry shook his head forcefully and rasped, "When hell freezes over, kid." Whatever else he had planned to say was waylaid by a series of strong coughs.

"Perhaps this little cold will teach you a lesson. Let's see, what was it about lying that you used to tell me?" Shawn asked as he feigned contemplation.

Henry rubbed his hands over his face and sat up. "Shawn, what the hell do you want?" he demanded. Despite the lack of strength behind the voice, Shawn immediately recognized the Henry Spencer patented 'Don't screw with me, kid' glare.

Shrugging his shoulders, Shawn flopped down in the chair. "Lassiter's missing."

"Missing?" Henry repeated, shocked.

"Yes, missing. You know, like poof! Gone! Vanished!"

"Yes, Shawn, I get it." Henry warned. "What happened?"

He shrugged. "No idea. He's been missing since Sunday night."

"Any leads?"

"None. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Zero…" Seeing Henry's glare return, Shawn heaved a tired sigh. "So far, we've got nothing. No evidence to suggest foul play. For all we know he took off. Vick suspects that he might have PSTD or something."

"STD? I believe you mean PTSD, Shawn."

"Yeah. That's the one," Shawn nodded. "Anyway, the station's shrink suggested that it might be related to Lassiter getting his brains scrambled. Head trauma and all. Gus thinks that's likely. And Jules… Well, Jules is convinced that there's foul play involved."

"And you?"

"And me?" Shawn returned.

"Yes, Shawn. What do you think?"

"I don't know. Lassiter's had a really rough go at it lately."

Henry cleared his throat with a grimace. "Enough to just walk away from his career?"

Shawn groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Maybe. I don't know. Did any of the cops that you worked with ever…You know."

Henry shook his head and frowned. "Stress, including the post-traumatic variety, wasn't something that was openly discussed. Sure, it happened. Every man has his breaking point."

"Yeah." Both men went silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

"If you want my opinion, Lassiter doesn't seem the type," Henry said.

Shawn paused then asked, "What about you?"

"Me? I have an unusually high threshold for stress and frustration. I raised you after all," Henry replied dryly.

"Funny, Dad. Glad to see your cold hasn't damaged your witty sense of humor."

Henry sighed. "Shawn, I'm not an expert in this. I don't know what to tell you. Did you call your mother? This is more her field of expertise."

"Too late to call her tonight," Shawn replied.

"I am surprised that you don't have more of an opinion."

"What? Why?"

"I'd just think you'd have a better insight into this subject. More so than anyone," Henry muttered in an off-hand manner.

Shawn felt a surge of anger. Clenching his hands in fists, he glared at his father. "What does that mean?!"

"Come on, Shawn. You know damn well what I'm referring to."

"I didn't come here to discuss me. I came…" He paused and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Hell, I honestly have no idea why I come here. Once again, it was a mistake." Pushing himself to his feet, he stomped out of the room to the door.

"Shawn. Damn it. Wait!" Henry shouted or at least tried to.

Shawn stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob. One twist, one step and he could be gone. He wasn't 16 years old anymore. He didn't need this crap. He wasn't bound to this house, his father, or his rules any longer. _I can just go._

He leaned his head on the door, hearing his father call his name for a second time. His rough voice cracking in what Shawn could only guess was disappointment.

Henry walked into the kitchen. "Shawn. I shouldn't have said that. Listen, I'm... " His voice trailed off as he fumbled for the right words. "Just stay. Why don't you make yourself a sandwich?"

Despite the clipped syllables and hoarse words, Shawn heard the contrition in his father's voice. Among other talents, the Spencer men were skilled in the art of unspoken apologies. "Okay." Shawn nodded, ambling over to the fridge.

"How is O'Hara taking this?" Henry inquired as he walked back to the couch.

Sandwich in hand, Shawn returned to his former seat. "Not well, but she's been hyper-sensitive since his injury."

Henry gave a small nod, distractedly flipping through TV channels. He settled for the local news before putting the remote down. "Well, you can't blame her…"

"Turnip," Shawn interrupted; his mouth full.

"What?"

Swallowing, he repeated. "Turn it up."

Volume up, Henry remarked. "Talk about a circus. Trial hasn't even started yet and it's already a complete fiasco. This rookie ADA needs to get his act together fast."

Shawn shushed his father, as the 'on the scene' reporter spoke.

"_More breaking news from the Santa Barbara County Court house today. The defense attorney for Seth Maher has filed a motion to dismiss all charges. Attorney for Maher, Hector Alvarez, provided a statement to the press today stating, 'There is little point in delaying the inevitable. The prosecution has not met its burden in providing conclusive evidence to support these charges and their sole eye-witness is missing. My client is merely a victim of an overzealous Detective and a politically motivated District Attorney.' A request for a continuance was submitted today by the Assistant District Attorney, but later rejected by Judge Keenan. The hearing will continue tomorrow morning."_

"Whoa. Wait a minute," Shawn said.

He felt such a rush of adrenaline that he nearly dropped his sandwich in surprise. He quickly recounted his conversations with Lassiter on that Sunday night. _First, their eye-witness goes missing and now Lassiter._ It was one too many coincidences in a row. And Henry Spencer didn't raise him to believe in coincidences.

Shawn knew that he was taking a rather large intuitive leap, but his instincts were screaming at him. _And who am I to argue with my instincts?_ The timing worked too well.

"What?" Shawn asked, noticing that his father was now staring at him and not the TV.

"You have that smug look on your face. So, what is?"

"Timing!"

"Say again?" Henry questioned.

"It's been driving me crazy! Why now?! I couldn't figure out why now!" Shawn spoke quickly as he sprung to his feet.

Henry snapped his fingers at his son and barked. "Shawn, slow down. What are you talking about?"

"I know where to look." Adding, more to himself, Shawn admitted. "Juliet might be right."

"Huh?"

Spinning around to face his father, Shawn smiled. "I think I know who's behind Lassiter's disappearance."

* * *

**TBC…**

Thank you for reading! Feedback, comments and critiques are welcome.

Wishing you all peace, health and happiness in the year to come-- **Happy 2010!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimers et al**-- See Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Seasons 1-3

**A/N:** ACK! What can I say? My attempts at a timely update were thwarted somewhere around early January. Between work and coming down with the flu, the fates had decided to align themselves against me. Not to mention that this chapter had become my own personal Waterloo. There has been rewrite upon rewrite upon rewrite. After ten full revisions, I decided that I needed to stop before I was left with a chapter that simply stated, "Stuff happened." My hope is that this revision is far better than the "stuff happened" option.

**Special Thanks**: As always, thank you to my beta extraordinaire, em. Without her incredible patience and the occasional (proverbial) kick in the ass, there would be no Chapter 6.

An extra big 'thank you' to all of you, who have left reviews; your ongoing support (and enthusiasm) has been invaluable. Truly, I cannot thank you enough. I still can't believe this fic was nominated, let alone won 3rd place for the "Most Wanted WIP" at Psychfic archive. Honestly, the award terrifies me. So, while I'm humbled and completely appreciative, I plan to ignore it for the time being. _("No pressure, no pressure")_

**Summary:**** Shawn and company must search for answers following Lassiter's disappearance. **

* * *

****CHAPTER SIX****

* * *

"_This is a hard and precarious world, where every mistake and infirmity must be paid in full." Clarence Day_

*

**WEDNESDAY MORNING **

**SANTA BARBARA POLICE STATION**

There had been no real opportunity for Shawn to discuss the finer details of his plan with Gus. A quick "Have plan. Meet me at the SBPD" text was all that it took to drag his partner away from his route. Shawn gave a short overview of the highlights as they jogged up the stairs into the station.

Gus matched Shawn's brisk pace and commented, "People disappear, Shawn. Maybe he took off because he lied to the police or something."

"Or maybe someone convinced him that he needed to disappear," Shawn said eagerly, as they rounded the corner towards Vick's office.

Gus raised his eyebrows. "Dude. You think?"

Shawn nodded. "I do. I had breakfast with his grandmother this morning. The woman makes a mean frittata."

"And?" Gus prompted.

"She said that he'd come to visit days before his disappearance with a black eye and a bloody nose. He told her that he got the injuries playing basketball. She didn't buy it, said that he'd been acting oddly. Very anxious. Kept looking over his shoulder when they were out."

Gus nodded. "So you think he was threatened?"

"It makes sense. The defense is pushing big time to get this case dismissed. And bam!" Shawn punctuated the last word with a clap of his hands. "The security guard, who just happens to be a key witness for the DA goes missing last week. Seems a little too convenient, don't you think?"

Gus shrugged a bit. "Sounds good, but do you think Vick will buy it?"

"It's all in the pitch, my friend. It's all in the pitch," Shawn answered with a smirk.

Frowning, Gus asked, "You sure this is the right direction? Need I remind you that you were pretty much on board the 'Lassiter had a nervous breakdown and left town' train, yesterday?"

"Yes, but that train derailed outside Mission Bay last night. We're now on the non-stop express to see if there's a connection between the guard's disappearance and Lassiter's," Shawn answered with forced enthusiasm.

Gus didn't look convinced and offered a non-committal, "I guess."

Shawn sighed. There was no doubt that this was a bit of a long shot. Even for them. "Hey, it's worth a shot. We're running out of options."

"Yeah. Fine. Let's do this."

Crossing the squad room, Shawn heard Juliet call out to him. He caught her frown as he darted past her, heading directly toward the congregation of officers around the coffee machines.

"Coffee!" Shawn shouted, nudging his way to the front of the group. "Java, mocha, hot joe!!"

"Excuse me! That's mine!" Detective Cafferty barked as Shawn stepped forward and swiped his mug out of his hands.

Taking a hefty swallow, Shawn gagged and then handed the mug back. "Ugh. That's awful. What is that?"

"Earl Grey. And what the hell?!" Cafferty demanded.

"Uh… Shawn, are you okay?" McNab asked; his voice tinged with concern. Before he could react, Shawn snatched the full mug of coffee from his hands.

"Oh, praise be to you, all holy caffeinated gods," Shawn declared, reverently, in between gulps of McNab's coffee. He guzzled it down, making some unseemly noises of satisfaction. "Mmm… That's the stuff. 100% Columbian goodness."

"Gus?" Juliet asked, standing to the side, watching the bizarre scene unfold.

Gus shrugged. "Don't look at me; he's been like this all morning,"

"Mr. Spencer, care to enlighten us?" Vick inquired from in front of her office door.

Smiling, Shawn saluted her with his empty mug. "Chief! I'm glad you're here. The spirits have sent me a message." Resting his free hand against his head, he said, "It's a jumble, but I see a man. Yes, a man, searching for his lost… ass."

"Excuse me?!" Vick demanded; her eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Shaking his head rapidly, Shawn corrected, "Donkey! I meant donkey. No wait! It's not the donkey that's missing, but the man. Gah. Spirits, don't toy with me!" Shawn slammed the mug down on a table and held both hands to his head. "Wait!! I'm getting more. A name. Juan… Valmer, Valquist, Valdez!"

"Juan Valdez?" Gus repeated.

With a confused shrug, Juliet asked, "The ad guy for Columbian coffee?"

"Yes. No…," Shawn answered with a firm shake of his head. "Not him. I see a 'J.' José. Juan-José Valdez."

"Juan-José Valdez is the name of the Port security guard that went missing eight days ago," McNab confirmed.

Shawn nodded. "And the spirits are telling me that it's no coincidence that both Valdez and Lassiter are missing."

"Well, your spirits are full of shit. Valdez took a pay off from Maher's men and disappeared. End of story," Cafferty retorted, his arms folded across his chest.

"Wrong. Wrong. Wrongity-wrong," Shawn quipped in a sing-song tone of voice. He spun around in a small circle before responding, "My psychic senses tell me that Valdez had been accepted into Cal Poly."

"So?" Cafferty snapped back.

"So," Shawn replied with a smirk. "He spent every waking moment working to get into their engineering program. He's registered for classes, paid his tuition for the semester and then decides to take off? Hmm… I just don't see it."

Cafferty scowled. "Look. According to our investigations, the kid earns next to nothing as a security guard. We figured one of Maher's associates offered him a cash bribe. A little money can go a long way for someone like Valdez."

Shaking his head with a mock "tut-tut", Shawn said, "Yeah, you couldn't be more wrong. Just because someone likes a little bling doesn't mean that they'd sell their soul for it. Take Gus here, for example, he has an obsession with Ferragamo shoes. It doesn't mean that he'd flee town and his civic duty if you offered him a pair."

"Don't be naïve."

"Fine. You say he accepted a bribe and fled. But wait, hmm…. seems like you're missing something," Shawn paused. "Oh, that's right. Evidence."

"He's right," Vick interjected, effectively putting an end to any ensuing argument from Cafferty. "We have no conclusive evidence to substantiate any theory at this point. So, Mr. Spencer, if you'll please, stop wasting our time and make your point."

"Chief, listen, there's a connection here between Valdez and Lassiter. The spirits aren't wrong. Not this time," Shawn answered firmly.

She considered his words for a moment. "Alright, Mr. Spencer. I'll give you some latitude. O'Hara, please provide Spencer and Guster with whatever they need with regards to Mr. Valdez's disappearance."

* * *

"Follow me," Juliet ordered, as she quickly made her way through the bustling squad room.

Surprised a bit by the tone, Shawn turned to Gus, the unspoken question clearly on both of the faces. Gus merely replied with a shrug of his shoulders before turning to hustle after the departing detective.

Without a word, Juliet led them to one of the file rooms. "The files are here. You can help yourself," she said brusquely.

Shawn shook his head, perplexed. "Hey. What's all of this? The Chief said…,"

Juliet gave him a hard, and surprisingly, angry look. He knew that look. It was the same glare, the barely suppressed look of exasperation that Lassiter had directed at Shawn on so many occasions. Despite himself, Shawn was somewhat taken aback by its appearance on the normally even-tempered junior detective.

"I know what the Chief said. I was there," Juliet interrupted. "But I don't have time to sit here and recap everything for you. Ask Buzz or Lucy to help you out."

From her clipped tone, Shawn could easily read the myriad of emotions that warred beneath the facsimile of a calm façade that the junior detective wore. "Jules," he tried again.

"No, Shawn," she snapped back. "Give me a break. The duplicate reports are all here," she said as she gestured to a stack of boxes. "Valdez's statements and depositions are here, police reports are over there," she offered with another quick gesture to another stack of boxes. "I have to head to court in less than 10 minutes."

Gus grabbed the first box and peered inside. "This will take all day."

"Jules. Please. Wait." Shawn brought her to a halt with a gentle grab of her arm. "I'm not sure we have the time to go over all of this. Frankly, I'm beginning to think that Lassie might not."

He saw her flinch and turn away at the mention of her partner's name. It didn't take more than a moment for her to regain her composure. "I have to head to court, Shawn. We can talk later," Juliet replied quietly.

He took in the glassy, red eyes and weariness, before insisting, "Wait. We can ride to the courthouse with you. Please."

She stared at him for a moment longer. Then, with a quiet sigh, she said, "Fine. Meet me outside in 10 minutes."

* * *

**ELSEWHERE**

Lassiter had spent the night reviewing every detail of his current predicament with hopes of finding some weakness, something he could exploit. Unfortunately, the numbers didn't bode well for him. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Not to mention that his current position offered him nothing in the way of a strategic advantage.

He wearily rubbed his hands across his forehead. He wondered what his great-great grandfather, the stalwart Colonel Muscomb T. Lassiter, would say to his current and only plan.

_Probably that it was lacking in tactical finesse_, Lassiter thought with a sigh.

Escape without getting shot or killed. While it was a good plan, he worried that it might be a bit too simplistic given the circumstances. However, with no resources, no allies, and no back-up at his disposal, it was all he had. And there was no way in hell that he was going to spend another day sitting locked away in this goddamn room. That he vowed to himself.

What he needed was an edge. However, studying his captors had yielded little in the way of useful information. Clearly, the promise of large sums of cash was the prime motivator for both captors. _Not exactly surprising or helpful_. However, the fear of reprisal was definitely a factor behind Mike's participation in this whole operation. The kid was terrified of these men (and rightfully so). He simply had to find a way to exploit it.

The unmistakable click of the lock startled Lassiter from his thoughts. _Speak of the devil. _He idly watched as the door swung open and Mike lumbered into the room.

"Here," Mike said, holding out a bottle of water to Lassiter. His voice was clipped and rough, sweat beading against the younger man's brow. There were no pleasantries this morning. No pain relievers, no ice pack, no warm fuzzies.

Lassiter grunted in response, but made no effort to move from his spot against the wall.

"Here!'" Mike shouted, wildly gesturing to the bottled water.

Lassiter cocked an eyebrow at the younger man, but didn't budge. He could easily see that the man was exhausted and not in good-humor.

_Having second thoughts?_ Lassiter wondered.

Truth be told, he wasn't in the mood for conversation either. He felt unbearably hot and the swelling in his jaw had yet to subside. With every attempt to open his mouth, he was greeted by a sharp ache that radiated along his damaged jawline. However, he had been trained to push aside personal discomfort. He knew that this was an opportunity that he couldn't let pass.

Clearing his throat, Lassiter asked through clenched teeth, "You seem upset. Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Mike retorted, as he slammed the water bottle down on the table.

"Hmm. Sounds like there's a problem." Lassiter taunted. "Things not going according to plan?"

Mike shook his head. "No. Everything's going to plan. Now, do you want this, or not?"

In response to the demand, Lassiter leaned against the wall; his feet crossed at the ankles and cuffed hands resting near his waist. "Later."

"Fine. Whatever, man." Mike lingered for a moment, clearly unsure what to do next.

"So, where's your pal? Don, isn't it? Haven't seen him lately," Lassiter inquired casually, as he studied the younger man's reactions.

Mike scowled, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. "What makes you think he isn't here right now?"

Lassiter snorted and rapped his cuffed hands lightly against the wall. "The walls aren't soundproof."

"Yeah," Mike responded sourly. "Well, he had an errand to run. He'll be back shortly."

"You sure about that? Did you ever consider he just took off? Left you to take the fall for all of this. Assault and kidnapping a police officer. That's hard time, kid."

"What fall?" Mike rolled his eyes with snort. "Look, I hate to break it to you, but the cops don't have us surrounded. There's no county-wide manhunt for a missing Santa Barbara detective. And even if there was, it's not like this place is on a main road. Hell, I doubt they'd be able to find you here even if we gave them a map and a GPS."

Lassiter frowned. "You seem to have this all worked out."

"Disappointed that we aren't idiots? Every detail has been planned out: from when we grabbed you to our departure plans. Once the boss's lawyer gets him released, we'll send out the S.O.S. for you to be rescued. Now, what do you want to eat for breakfast?"

Ignoring the question, Lassiter said, "You're a goddamn fool to think that it'll be that simple. Why would they willingly leave loose ends? What makes you think any of us with survive this?"

"You keep saying that. Listen carefully, Detective, our job is to detain you." Mike spoke slowly placing emphasis every word. "That's all."

Lassiter shook his head in wonder. "You truly believe that load of crap. Don't you?"

"Our instructions were clear. Besides, I don't kill people."

Lassiter snorted. "No, you just hold them hostage, locked in this inferno."

"Trust me, it's just as warm in the other room," Mike responded, wiping sweat off his forehead with the edge of his tee shirt.

"I wouldn't know. Now, would I?" Lassiter retorted, bitterly.

"Fine. How about I leave the door open for a bit? But if I were you, I wouldn't be expecting much. It's not like we have air conditioning here." Mike turned to exit the room. "So, think you can eat? I'll get your breakfast."

Lassiter shook his head. "You follow their orders. Jump when they say jump. You think you're an asset to them," It wasn't a question. "But you're not."

Mike's face flushed with anger, clearly annoyed with the direction of the conversation. "What the hell are you talking about? We've already gone over this. I have a job to do. That's all."

"I wonder how long it will be before they find someone else that can do your job and doesn't have such hang-ups about blood-shed. You're a liability and men working for Maher and his family have been killed for less."

"You're wrong." Mike shook his head, firmly, but conviction was lacking in his voice.

"I'm not," Lassiter said resolutely.

Before Mike could respond, he was interrupted by the honk of a car horn. He turned to Lassiter. "Wait here," he said quickly before jogging out of the room.

He growled. "Wait here? Like I can go anywhere else!" Lassiter lashed out in frustration, knocking the chair with a swift kick. He vehemently cursed the man, the shackles binding his hands, his miserable luck, and pretty much every man and creature in a 100 mile radius of here.

_Wherever here was_, he thought grimly.

He glanced up and noticed that Mike had left the door wide open. Lassiter quickly pushed himself off the wall and walked to the doorway. His chain-link leash keeping him restricted to the confines of the door threshold. Not surprising, his original estimations of his prison had been too generous. He appeared to be in held captive in what could only be described as a small, _nearly postage-sized_, cabin.

Bright light from two small windows illuminated a dusty and rather dilapidated space. Lassiter scanned over the stained cedar walls and dirt covered floors, finding nothing of strategic value. The furnishings were scarce: a small table, couple of chairs, and a lamp. Much to his growing dismay, he could spot only one visible exit (the front door) greatly limiting his escape options. Though he loathed admitting it, this was a perfect hideout for a kidnapping. A tiny, remote shack in the middle of only god knows where.

He was so completely screwed.

Lassiter heard muffled voices as his captors drew closer to the cabin. He didn't have to wait more than a moment before he was greeted with the unwelcome sight of his second captor.

"Miss me?" Don mocked, clomping through the front door with Glock in hand. Lassiter felt a flash of rage pulse through his veins at the sight of his gun. He gave the bastard a quick, scathing look before his attention was draw immediately to their latest arrival.

Despite himself, Lassiter felt his stomach clench in unease, as he immediately recognized the man standing before him. _Damn! Yasin. _He watched with a narrow eyed glare as the tall and wiry man casually strode into the middle of his closet-sized prison.

"Good Morning, Detective," he said, his voice deep and accented. Yasin offered a congenial smile, as he righted the overturned chair and sat down. Lassiter couldn't help, but bristle at the exaggerated politeness and familiarity in the man's voice. "Allow me to introduce myself--"

"Don't bother," Lassiter interrupted him. "I know who you are. You murdering son of a bitch."

Laughing in surprise, he replied, "Oh? It's nice to see that my reputation precedes me."

Lassiter sneered in disgust. "Yasin. Sami Yasin, Egyptian ex-pat wanted for crimes crossing five countries and two continents. INTERPOL has been hunting you and your associates for close to a decade."

"Bravo. Detective," Yasin applauded. "I didn't realize that you kept yourself abreast of affairs abroad. I'm impressed. So, I gather you know why you're here?"

Lassiter eyed him angrily. "Maher."

Yasin smiled, again. It was a smug, toothy grin that made Lassiter want to haul off and punch the bastard. "Right you are, Detective. My poor, idiot cousin has found himself in quite the predicament. Really, it's more of a misunderstanding than anything."

Lassiter's face darkened with rage. "Misunderstanding? You call murdering an innocent woman, a misunderstanding?!"

"Now, now, Detective. Let's not quibble over semantics," he said, condescendingly. "I'm merely here to assist Seth in rectifying his small problem."

Lassiter felt his hands ball into fists. "By committing felony assault and kidnapping!"

Yasin shook his head. "You're merely a means to an end, Detective. An obstacle that needed to be temporarily relocated."

Furious, Lassiter's voice rose. "Is that what Valdez was? An obstacle?! Did you stash him away too?"

"Ever the detective? Eh, Detective?" Yasin asked, amused. "There was no need for such extremes with Mr. Valdez. He was given the option to take a brief excursion out of town, and he willingly accepted. However, you were a far greater challenge." Yasin paused with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Why go to the trouble? Why not kill me outright?" Lassiter demanded.

Yasin tilted in head in mock confusion. "You almost sound disappointed. Would you prefer that I kill you? I didn't know you had such a death wish, Detective. Perhaps the rumors are true."

Ignoring the man's insults, Lassiter asked again, "Drop the bullshit. Why the charade?"

Yasin chuckled. "Honestly, I wanted to see you suffer. I'll admit that it wasn't the most inventive, but after all that you've put my family through I felt it was fitting."

Lassiter shot him a look of disgust. "Your family? What about the victim's family and their suffering?"

"Hmm," Yasin took a moment for contemplation before saying, "They have my deepest condolences, but they are not my concern."

"You son of a bitch," Lassiter spat back.

Yasin only smiled at the insult, his expression was the epitome of calm professionalism. "Alvarez assures me that all charges will be dismissed any day now. You'll be interested to know that your reckless pursuit made all of this possible. Even the media have dubbed you as 'a deranged and power hungry cop'. A 'loose cannon' set on destroying an innocent man's reputation."

Lassiter felt his chest tighten painfully at the comment. He knew he was being baited. The jab was meant to strike at his pride and it worked. He shook his head. "Innocent? You're delusional. Maher is responsible for murdering Michelle Gray. No judge in their right mind will let him walk. We have evidence and an eye-witness."

"Had. You had, as is, past tense. Motion to suppress," Yasin corrected. "And we know what happened to your so-called eye witness."

Lassiter tensed, but said nothing in response. He merely stared at the cocky man seated before him with barely restrained fury.

Yasin continued on, "You've played the role of an obsessed, unstable cop so perfectly. Thank you for that. We couldn't have asked for better."

Lassiter angrily clenched his teeth, refueling the fiery ache in his jaw. "So what? You came here to gloat?" he asked, pissed.

"Pretty much," Yasin said with a smirk. "I won't have an opportunity to stop by once Seth is released."

Lassiter waited then raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Okay. What then?! He gets released and you flee town?"

Yasin chuckled, shaking his head. "I could tell you, but why spoil the surprise. No, I think you'll just have to wait to find out. I've been watching you, Detective Lassiter. I know that being here, chained up, helpless and disgraced would be a far greater blow than killing you. Consider all of this," he said, gesturing to his prison, "payback."

And with that, Lassiter reached his breaking point. The simmering anger that had festered under the surface couldn't be contained any longer. He was sick of being kicked around. He had enough. _It had to stop._ He had taken far too much abuse lately: Brackett, Lewis, IA, the media, Victoria. He needed it to stop.

Furious, Lassiter lunged towards Yasin, only to be blocked as Don plowed into him with the force of a sledgehammer. He heard his head crack against the wall as his body crashed into the cedar paneling. A quick, hard punch to the gut left Lassiter gasping in pain. The air exiting his lungs in a "whoosh," as Don's fist pummeled his ribs in rapid succession.

Adrenaline fueling his rage, Lassiter quickly twisted his body, blocking the next series of hits with cuffed hands. Blindly striking out, he managed to land a solid kick to Don's knee, effectively holding him off. The move only allotted him a moment of respite, as the other man grunted in pain. Enraged, Don violently lashed out faster than he would have imagined, slamming his fist into Lassiter' face.

Under normal circumstances, Lassiter might have had a chance to block the hit. But with his hands cuffed, pinned to the wall, exhausted and bone weary, he was simply too damn slow to put up an effective defense.

There was an audible crack as the blow connected, and for a moment, all Lassiter saw was white. His legs immediately gave out on him, as adrenaline fled his body. He had no idea how long he laid on the floor, trapped in his own little world of agony, with wave after wave of fresh pain crashing through him. He choked out a pain-filled groan, blinking his eyes rapidly in the growing haze.

He watched as a dark blur ventured closer, crouching near his head. _Move! Damnit!_ He pleaded with his body, but it refused to comply. The blur offered him a mocking sigh; its voice barely audible above the dull roar in his ears.

"You claim you know who I am, Detective. But you seem to have forgotten one critical point. Seth is family. And no one threatens my family," Yasin quietly warned.

Lassiter was unable to muster a response as the rapidly growing fog overwhelmed him. Overcome, he let his eyes fall shut, allowing everything to simply drift away.

* * *

TBC!

Comments, critique and feedback are welcome! Feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimers et al**- See Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** Seasons 1-4 (*please note the change from previous chapters.*)

**A/N:** I'm more than a little appalled (and a lot embarrassed) that it has taken me this long to update this fic. My sincere apologies. I had good intentions (best laid plans and all…), but life decided to kick me in the teeth for a bit. And sadly, I'm still recovering. Work is still consuming the bulk of my waking hours, so future updates will continue to be slow.

**Special Thanks**: To those of you, who have stuck around to read and review this little fic, I cannot thank you enough. Your ongoing support, patience, and/or enthusiasm continue to be greatly appreciated! And because it bears repeating… Thank you so very much!

As always, thank you to my beta extraordinaire, em. She's both cheerleader and wielder of a big giant stick. Both being exactly what I needed to get through the very arduous inception of this chapter. (Per usual, all mistakes are mine.)

**A/N (part deux):** While I've watched nearly 20 years of "Law and Order" (I saw the pilot when it aired in 1990), I'm not a lawyer. And as such, I've taken a lot of liberties in the legal aspects of this chapter.

**Summary: Shawn and company must search for answers following Lassiter's disappearance. **

**

* * *

**

**** Chapter 7 ****

**

* * *

**

"_No one that ever lived had enough power, prestige or knowledge to overcome the basic condition of all life—you win some and you lose some." _

Ken Keyes, Jr.

**Wednesday AM**

Shawn tilted his head back, looking up at a large swath of dark clouds hovering overhead. At some point in the last hour, a wall of jet black juggernauts had formed and now, towered over the horizon. Despite the strong ocean breeze, the air still clung to him like a shroud of wax. _Hot._ _Sticky._ _Unbearable._ Buffeted by a strong gust of wind, Shawn idly wondered if the coming storm would bring any relief from this oppressive weather.

"Looks like it's going to storm," Shawn commented, casually, as he watched small flashes of lightning flicker across the sky. The two men stood waiting, with varying degrees of patience, in the SBPD parking lot for a certain blonde detective. Small droplets of rain now peppered his head as he glanced to his partner standing next to him.

"She said 10 minutes, right?" Gus complained as larger drops of rain splattered on the blacktop near his shoes. "Gah! These are Italian leather. She wouldn't just leave us standing out in the rain, would she?"

Shawn simply shook his head in response. Henry Spencer had badgered his son, all in the name of training, to recognize personality traits and temperaments. _The good ones along with the criminal ones. _Shawn knew that Juliet would never abandon her friends. It simply wasn't in her nature.

_Speak of the devil_.

Her dark blue sedan approached them slowly, stopping only a couple of feet away. Without calling "shotgun", Shawn hopped into the front passenger seat, leaving Gus to take shelter in the backseat.

Juliet placed the car into park, and then turned to face them. Her eyes spoke volumes of the stress that she was under. "I think I owe both of you an apology."

Shawn gave Gus a sidelong glance before asking, "What for?"

She shook her head with a wry smile. "My attitude. Listen, about before, I was completely out of line and…"

"Jules. Look, you don't have to," Shawn interrupted. "It's all water under the bridge on the river Kwai."

Gus cocked an eyebrow at the comment and said, "There's no need to apologize."

Juliet countered, "I do. Please let me finish. I'm sorry for before. It's just that I'm so..," her voice trailed as she made a noise of aggravation. "I know you both are trying to help. Really, I do, but we are absolutely no where with locating Lassiter. The A.D.A. is in tizzy, IAB is clamoring for a full investigation and…"

"And?" Gus prompted when she fell unexpectedly silent, lost in her thoughts.

"And the Chief told me this morning that she'll be announcing Lassiter's disappearance this afternoon. Once the media catches wind of this…" Her lips curled with disgust as she said, "It's going to be bad."

Shawn silently agreed. The local media outlets had already branded Lassiter as dangerous, fanatical, and obsessed. _Loose cannon._ Shawn knew that the news of the detective's disappearance was going to start a wildfire of speculations and rumors. There was no doubt in his mind that this could prove to be a devastating blow to Lassiter's career. That is if he still had one after all of this was said and done.

_But more importantly, after they found him._

She sighed, canting her face toward the side window. "Honestly, I'm not even sure where we go from here. It's been almost three days since anyone's seen or heard from him. We have no leads, no suspects, and no evidence. Maybe I should have gone to the bar myself and…" Her voice cracked with emotion as the accumulation of fatigue, worry and guilt broke through her defenses.

"And what?" he asked. "Jules, you can't honestly be blaming yourself for any of this? Lassie wouldn't stand for that and neither will we." Shawn paused, waiting for signs of acknowledgment as she stared out the rain streaked window.

"Hey." He gently tapped her shoulder to draw her back from her thoughts. "We'll find him." He tried to infuse as much conviction into those words as he could. Shawn didn't quite have the specifics. The "how's" and "where's" could come later. For now, she needed hope. Needed to believe they would find Lassiter and bring an end to this insanity. It was the least that he could do for her.

Juliet's eyes were bright and she offered them a sad facsimile of her usual smile. "You're right as usual. Thank you, I needed to hear that."

Their conversation drifted into an awkward silence as she put the car into drive. The wipers swished harshly against the rain-splattered windshield as she eased the car into morning traffic.

"Shawn, what you said before in the squad room, do you really believe there is a connection between Valdez's disappearance and Lassiter's?" Juliet inquired.

Shawn nodded. "There's a connection. My psychic senses are practically tingling with all of this relative connectivity. Granted, it might be more like six degrees of separation than an actual direct link. Those spirits, boy, do they love Kevin Bacon."

"Shawn." Gus grumbled a low warning from the backseat.

Shawn took the warning in stride, but pressed on with his point. "Both are set to give crucial testimony for the prosecution, and now both are MIA. Seems a bit too coincidental. And my Dad didn't raise me to believe in coincidences. Or for that matter, the tooth fairy, Easter Bunny, the Great Pumpkin, aliens, mermaids, zombies, Santa Claus…"

Gus interrupted Shawn's litany, leaning forward in his seat to talk with the junior detective, "What more can you tell us about Valdez?"

"Probably not much more than you already know from the media. Juan-José Valdez had been employed as a part-time security guard for the Port Ridge Yacht Club for the past two years. His grandmother reported him missing about a week ago when he failed to show up for their weekly breakfast get together."

"And no one has seen or heard from his since," Shawn supplied.

Juliet nodded. "Right. As you heard at the station, there are a lot of theories surrounding his sudden disappearance. We've had a BOLO out on him at the borders, airports, and so far we haven't had a single sighting. He's just fallen off the grid."

Shawn shook his head. "So, he was all set to give his deposition like a good key witness, and suddenly—poof! He vanishes. Hmm... Taking a stab in the dark here, but I'm thinking that we aren't looking for David Blaine. Clearly, someone's responsible for Juan-José's magic act."

Gus frowned. "Yeah, sounds to me like he had help."

"Agreed," Juliet said. "But there's simply no evidence. We've had Maher and his associates lines tapped and bank accounts monitored for the past six months. There's been nothing suspicious, illegal, or at all connected to Valdez. If they're responsible, they've covered their tracks well."

Tapping his hand lightly on the console, he wondered aloud, "You know there's been something bugging me about this case for months now."

She eyed him suspiciously before saying, "Oh? And what would that be, Shawn? " Sensing something in his manner, she returned to using her no-nonsense, "I'm Detective O'Hara" tone of voice that he had come to dislike. The tone was too formal, too cold, and too forced for Shawn's liking.

He offered her a toothy grin. "Whatever happened to 'no body, no crime'?"

"Shawn." Juliet's voice rose in irritation, as she jerked the wheel hard to the right.

Shawn braced his arm against the door to counter the force of the turn. "Easy, Jules. I think we'd all like to arrive at the courthouse in one piece," he chided.

She gave him a stern look. "Shawn today is probably not the best day to criticize my driving."

Looking contrite, he countered, "Point taken."

"Of all the dumbass…," Gus muttered under his breath, reaching across the seat to punch Shawn's shoulder.

"Okay! Okay! Sorry! Geesh," Shawn grumbled, quickly rubbing his arm. "Seriously though, Jules, this is a fairly big leap for you and Lassie to take without a body. What would make Lassie break one of his precious, precious rules?"

"Different circumstances altogether. Seth Maher had the means and opportunity to get rid of all evidence, including Michelle Gray."

Shawn tilted his head in contemplation. "Fine. Let's recap. Maher invites his girlfriend to his yacht for a little romantic something-something. Kills her and drops her body into the sea. Seems like we're missing some mega steps here. What's his motive?"

Juliet shrugged her shoulders slightly before answering, "Lassiter's convinced that it was done in a fit of rage, but at this point, its speculation. Maher's a possessive, narcissistic bastard with a temper. We have witness reports of Gray and Maher having a heated argument a day before. Apparently, Michelle had been out with another man, but it was mostly second hand information. Gossip and such."

"Hearsay," Gus offered.

"Hear what?" Shawn uttered with mock confusion.

"Never mind," Gus heaved a sigh of exasperation. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't he say in his interview with KMZR that he dropped her off at the docks and parted ways."

Shawn quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "Was that an interview with Channel 8's Rebecca Garcia? The same Rebecca Garcia whose newscasts you TIVO on a nightly basis?"

"You know it." Gus grinned. "She has amazing sense of style and journalistic integrity."

"So, you were admiring her journalistic integrity when you said that she had the most voluptuous…"

"Shawn!" Gus gave an indignant shout.

"Boys. Focus!" Juliet snapped. "And yes, Maher claimed and still claims that Michelle felt ill after their little cruise. He dropped her off at the docks and left. Witnesses support that Maher returned to his club, alone, around 11 and stayed until close."

"Didn't I hear that he passed the lie detector?" Gus asked.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Means nothing other than he's a skilled liar."

Juliet nodded her head in agreement. "Even without her body, we suspected foul play from the start. Between the evidence and Valdez's statement, we had enough to go forward with our arrest. Besides, Maher's accounts of the evening were just a little too perfect. Too detailed. Too rehearsed."

"Wasn't there something like 45 corroborating witnesses?" Shawn asked. "How the hell did you guys ever manage to get a warrant?"

Juliet sighed, irritably. "Combination of evidence found on the yacht and Valdez's statement. Blood residue found on deck of the boat matched her blood type."

"So you guys think it was a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' job? Whacked her and tossed her into the ocean." Shawn punctuated his comments with a swift fist punch into his open hand.

"Um. Something like that," Juliet said with a cringe, clearly disturbed with his synopsis. "For weeks, we've had search teams focus on the ocean and bay around Santa Barbara, but so far have come up with nothing."

"No body, limited evidence, missing key witnesses, a rich defendant with an unbeatable lawyer…" Gus offered.

Shawn whistled low. "We're screwed."

"Yeah." Juliet sighed. "That's an understatement. Nowak's called me in to validate Valdez's witness statements. My testimony is apparently a last ditch effort to salvage this whole mess. Just wish that… "

"What?" Shawn asked in confusion as she shook her head. Her last words were too quiet for him to decipher.

Her voice tight, stretched with unmistakable weariness. "It's nothing."

"Come on, Jules." Shawn prompted, gently.

She turned her head, fixing both men with a firm glare. "You both have to swear that what I tell you will never leave this car."

Cocking his head to the side, Shawn raised his hand in salute, "Done. If you want, Gus can even swear it in sweat and blood, and almost certainly, tears."

Juliet drew a deep breath. "Okay. I had only been working in Santa Barbara for a couple of months before I had to give testimony on a high profile case. It was a new city, new job, new partner and well, I was nervous. But in his own weird way, Lassiter gave one of the oddest, but sweetest pep talks that I've ever received." She paused with a smile at the memory. "Granted, I didn't understand half of the Civil War references. But it worked."

She laughed softly. "God, he would kill me if I told anyone this."

"And you were thinking…" Shawn encouraged.

She sighed, sadly. "That it would be great to hear one of those strange pep talks from him right about now."

* * *

*

**Meanwhile**

Lassiter had no idea how long he laid prone on the floor, knotty pine boards pressed against his face. _Minutes. Hours. An eternity?_ he wondered. He knew that it should disturb him that he's losing track of time. _Yet again._ It was becoming far too familiar of a sensation for him. Hazily, he allowed himself to drift between realms of semi-consciousness for a bit. He'd become no more than a distant observer to his life, unable to move or speak.

_Detached._

_Broken_.

An uncomfortable numbness had settled into his arms, as the useless appendages lay pinned underneath his body. He tried to roll to one side, but his body was clearly not ready to respond to his commands just yet.

So, instead, Lassiter laid face down with the constant throb of pain to keep him company. A sharp, sickly ache had firmly established itself in and around his jaw, leaving him nauseous and weak. He was certain that if his jaw wasn't broken before, with his luck, it was probably shattered now. The left side of his face felt unbearably heavy and tight. Weakly, he slid his tongue around the inside of his mouth, futilely trying to rid himself of the bitter, metallic taste. Despite his caution, the small act was excruciatingly painful. Blood pooled in his mouth, seeping effortlessly out of the corners of his lips. He slowly licked his lip, grimly wondering how many teeth were lost to that punch.

Much to his disgust, his rage over this current mess had faded in the wake of his latest injuries. And without rage fueling his adrenaline, he was left feeling beyond exhausted. _Empty._ For all of his decades of experience and best efforts, he failed once again. Just one more thing to add to an already long list of failures, he mused, bitterly. _Marriage, friendship, work, and now his attempts at escape, all failures._

He cursed himself, as the more pragmatic side of him slowly started to recover and reawaken. He swiftly squelched that train of thought, knowing that no good would come from it. He needed to stay focused on more productive things. _Things like survival and escape_, he reminded himself. Though, it was proving to be more of a challenge than Lassiter had ever imagined.

_Take stock of your situation, damnit_!

Lassiter forced his eyes open, quickly finding the left was far too swollen and uncooperative to function. Not that it mattered, the room was empty. All he could make out were the grimed covered floor boards in his prison cell. He blinked rapidly as his limited vision swam and the spike of pain flared across his face. Exhaling with deliberate slowness, he waited until the strongest waves of pain receded to a more tolerable, persistent throb.

Despite his limited awareness of the world around him, he sensed that he wasn't alone. He heard a low voice talking somewhere off in the distance. His captors still lingered nearby. _Not good_, he thought bleakly.

Unwilling to risk movement, he held himself still as a series of familiar sounds interrupted his addled thoughts. _Click. Click. Click_. Lassiter felt his senses kick into high gear as the strong acrid odor of cigarette smoke trickled past the fog of pain and confusion. He took another measured breath, becoming increasing aware of the dangers surrounding him.

Lassiter tensed as he heard a man cough, somewhere close. He marshaled his waning strength, desperately trying to figure out the man's proximity. The deep, low cough of one of his keepers rattled loudly in the enclosed space. Relying solely on training, Lassiter surmised that the bastard was more than likely in the adjacent room of the cabin.

Startled, he felt himself flinch painfully as an alarm klaxon echoed throughout the cabin. Lassiter suppressed a groan, silently cursing his body's reflexive movements. Within a moment's time, he realized that the pseudo alarm was some obscene techno- metal ringtone. Given his current state, he decided that his best course of action was non-action, and in this case, eavesdropping.

"Yeah, I'm here. Where else would I be?" Don answered brusquely. Lassiter frowned as he immediately recognized the son of bitch's voice. "Nah, bastard's still out. I don't think he'll be causing us any trouble from now on." Much to his aggravation, the speaker wasn't talking loud enough for him to hear who was on the other end of the line.

Don chuckled loudly. "Asshole deserved it. You didn't see it, the guy just flipped out! Lucky that I was there to keep him in line."

There was some unintelligible mumbles and murmurs as Don paused. "What? Nah. Junior's out. Little shit needed some fresh air or something," he replied, snidely.

There was another long pause "Yeah, you said it. I'm just waiting for the boss to give the word, so that I can get the hell out of here and get paid. Should be today."

He took a quick drag from his cigarette, before laughing again. Lassiter winced at its maliciousness. "Yep," Don agreed. "Once I get the word, Boss wants me to take care of things. I'm figuring with the heat and all, the place should burn real fast. Probably half of the mountain too. " He punctuated his words with the flip and click of his lighter. "Nothing, but ashes. No one will ever know that we were here."

With the finality of those words, Lassiter knew that whatever time he thought he had just expired.

* * *

*

**Santa Barbara Courthouse**

Nowak's assistant quickly whisked Juliet off to review some of the finer points of her testimony. This left Shawn and Gus time to wander the halls of the courtroom in search of a concession stand. Rounding the corner, they were greeted by a familiar face, an old friend.

"Hey, Shawn! Gus!" Adam Hornstock called out warmly with a wave. The young defense attorney strode toward them, his swagger radiating with confidence. Shawn couldn't help but smile with pride. The young man had finally hit the trifecta: strong shag, strong tie, and a strong defense lawyer were all present and accounted for.

"Dude!" Shawn shouted, enthusiastically. "How goes it?"

"Very well," Hornstock answered. "You guys? How goes the business?"

"Can't complain," Shawn said.

Hornstock smiled. "So, what brings you two to the courthouse today? Your bike wasn't impounded again, was it?"

Shawn shook his head. "Nah. We're here for the Maher trial."

"Providing testimony?" asked Hornstock.

"No, just supporting a friend," Gus answered.

"Ah," Hornstock said with a nod. "I've been following that one. It's an uphill battle all the way for the prosecution."

"Yeah," Gus said, grimly. "So, we've heard."

"Plus, I heard Alvarez is using the SODDI defense. It's practically fool-proof in this situation."

"Hold up," Shawn raised his hands in confusion. "SoBe? Like the delicious and nutritious beverage?"

"No. S.O.D.D.I. stands for 'Some Other Dude Did It'," Hornstock replied. "And this is a golden opportunity to use it. No witnesses to the crime, no body for forensics, and circumstantial evidence at best. All Alvarez has to do is plant a seed of doubt that someone else could be responsible for her disappearance and instant mistrial! Without direct support from key witnesses, this case won't make it beyond today."

"What do you know about this guy, Alvarez?" Shawn wondered.

Hornstock shrugged his shoulders. "He's one of the best in the country, but expensive as hell. And in this case, worth every penny. Alvarez has managed to discredit just about every expert witness that Nowak has put on the stand." He continued, "It doesn't help that the new A.D.A. is inexperienced. The D.A. pushed too fast with far too little to work with. If you want my opinion, it should be a slam dunk for Alvarez."

"Okay. Thanks, man," Shawn said, offering the other man a fist bump for his help. "We better get going. And by the way, great tie. The aubergine really works with the pin striping in the suit. And I say that with complete security in my manhood."

Hornstock gleefully returned the bump, saying, "Yeah. Strong tie. Strong person. Right? I have pre-trial motions down the hall in about a half hour. Nice seeing you guys."

With snacks in hand, Shawn and Gus entered the courtroom. Despite the early session, the room was filled with reporters and spectators. Both men carefully negotiated the crowd as they made their way towards two empty seats in the back. "What'd we miss?" Shawn asked the portly woman to his left.

"Shh!" She hushed him, giving him a sharp, stern look in return.

"I guess we missed nothing," Shawn turned and whispered to Gus.

He quickly scanned the courtroom, just as his father had drilled into him since childhood. His focus was immediately drawn to the defendant, Seth Maher. Shawn couldn't help, but to be taken aback by the young man's demeanor. _Calm. Cool with brashness bordering on arrogance._

_He knows that he's going to get away with this_, Shawn thought.

Maher sat off to the right, arms folded over his chest, self-satisfied in his presumed innocence. He didn't seem at all disturbed with the fact that he was facing murder charges related to the disappearance of his alleged girlfriend.

"Detective O'Hara, from his sworn statements during his police interview, what did Mr. Valdez tell you that he observed on the night in question?" The voice of Santa Barbara County's newest A.D.A., Richard Nowak, cut through his thoughts.

Juliet nodded. "Per Mr. Valdez's statements, he reported that he observed the arrival of the defendant and Michelle Gray in Mr. Maher's vehicle at the Port Ridge Yacht Club's entry gates at 7:00 pm. He stated that Mr. Maher and Ms. Gray left on Mr. Maher's sport cruiser, shortly after. In Mr. Valdez's interview, he said that around 10:30 pm, he saw the defendant's car, with only the defendant in it, quickly speed off.

"Detective O'Hara, once again from those sworn statements, Mr. Valdez did not see Michelle Gray return to the docks nor exit the yacht club on the night in question? Is that correct?" Nowak asked.

"That is correct," Juliet confirmed.

"No further questions," Nowak said.

Hector Alvarez whispered something to the defendant before standing. "True or false, Detective O'Hara, security guard Valdez's initial report was that he was not in a position to observe the arrival of Mr. Maher's boat. Is that correct?"

Juliet eye's narrowed at his tone. "Yes, however…"

"Just answer the question Detective O'Hara," Alvarez interrupted.

"Fine. True."

"And Mr. Valdez recanted his statement during a police interview, is that correct?" Alvarez asked.

"Yes. After having an opportunity to reflect on the events of that evening, Mr. Valdez had realized that he had made an error in his original statement."

"And who was the lead detective during this interview?"

"Detective Carlton Lassiter."

Alvarez, casually, reached down for a manila file folder filled with newspaper clippings. He looked down at it briefly and said, "I've read that Detective Lassiter is known for his forceful interrogation style. Bit of a pitbull. Fierce, intense, driven. No holds bars…"

"Objection," Nowak called out from his seat.

Judge Keenan firmly responded, "Ask a question, Mr. Alvarez."

"From your observations, have you observed Detective Lassiter using tactical or psychological methods to coerce a statement from a witness?" Alvarez asked.

Shawn watched Juliet square her shoulders. Her voice was firm as she answered assertively, "Detective Lassiter is a one of the finest officers who I've had the privilege to work with. He has incredible respect for the law and would never betray his sworn oath."

"Is that a yes? Or a no, Detective?"

Clearly annoyed with the assertion, Juliet affirmed, "Lassiter conducts his interviews of witnesses within the confines of the law."

"You still haven't answered my question, Detective," Alvarez countered.

"While a variety of questioning techniques are often employed, coercing a witness's statements is not one of them."

"Never?" Alvarez asked, hands raised in mock surprise. "Not even when faced with mounting pressure from his own department heads, local politicians and media scrutiny?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "You can't tell me that Detective Lassiter didn't feel intense pressure to close this case. By his own words in an interview," Alvarez paused as he read from a newspaper clip. "He said that he 'wasn't willing to rest until he brought the person or persons responsible for Ms. Gray's disappearance to justice.' Wow. That's some commitment. Almost obsessive."

Nowak jumped to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor."

"A little too much latitude, Mr. Alvarez. Time to ask your question or move along," Keenan warned.

Alvarez nodded. "So, from your testimony and your own observations, Detective Lassiter's interviews are conducted above board and within the confines of the law. So, Detective O'Hara, were you present at any point during the interview in question?"

Juliet hesitated for the briefest of moments. Shawn tried not to visibly cringe as she paused to mull over her thoughts. It was subtle, but he knew that the Alvarez would see it as a sign of uncertainty. An indication that his assumption had been accurate. One brief pause and O'Hara may have just opened the door that would condemn her partner.

"No, I was called away during the interview," she replied.

"Does Detective Lassiter typically conduct his interviews in private with video and audio disengaged?"

Juliet shook her head. "No. Our recorder had malfunctioned."

"How convenient," Alvarez quipped, "Withdrawn. Detective O'Hara, Isn't it possible that Detective Lassiter compelled Mr. Valdez to change his statement in an effort to falsely accuse my client?"

"No. It's not," she responded sharply. Shawn could easily tell that she was furious with any insinuation of impropriety on the part of her partner.

Alvarez emphasized, "But you weren't there, were you Detective?"

She shook her head, stating, "No, but…"

"Thank you, Detective O'Hara. That is all." Shawn caught her frown as she stood dismissed from the stand. She clearly knew the damage had been done.

"Mr. Nowak, have you any other expert witnesses to offer in this case?" Keenan inquired.

His attention drifted over to Maher, who looked more or less bored with the court's proceedings. He only needed to give a cursory glance to see that Maher was satisfied with the results. Maher knew that he had won. Alvarez had poked plenty of holes in Nowak's expert witnesses. There was little doubt in Shawn's mind that this case was over. C_ase closed. Game Over. Winner: Maher._ The prosecution didn't have a prayer without Valdez or Lassiter there to provide testimony. He figured that it would only be a matter of moments before Keenan announced the dismissal of all charges.

From his periphery, he saw the courtroom door swing open. Shawn's focus quickly shifted as SBPD's own Buzz McNab strode through the court aisle towards the prosecution. He frowned, instantly recognizing the calm, professionally-detached look gracing Buzz's face. It was an expression that officers only used in very specific, very dire circumstances.

_Someone's dead_.

"Think Buzz has new information on Lassiter?" Gus whispered.

Shawn merely shrugged his shoulders. He silently hoped that whatever information Buzz came to offer had nothing to do with Lassiter. Leaning forward in his seat, Shawn studied the quiet exchange between McNab and Nowak. Whatever McNab said took only a moment.

Shawn watched the Nowak nod to McNab, before standing. "Your Honor, we would like to request a continuance."

"Based on what, Mr. Nowak?" Keenan asked.

"New information, Your Honor. I've just received report from Officer McNab of the Santa Barbara Police Department that the remains of a woman were found this morning near East Beach. Preliminary I.D. matches that of Michelle Gray."

The courtroom erupted in a series of gasps and murmurs following the announcement. As Judge Keenan forcefully struck his gavel several times, Shawn turned to catch a glimpse of Maher amidst the pandemonium of courtroom spectators. It came as no surprise that the defendant's unflappable façade never wavered once.

Despite appearances, Shawn knew that Maher had reason to worry. This changed everything.

_Game on. _

_

* * *

*  
_

**TBC….**

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to drop me a line and let me know your thoughts. Comments are greatly appreciated.


End file.
